12/05/2026
There are some devotees whose lives become so deeply intertwined with the Divine that every incident in their journey slowly transforms into a living scripture, and one such blessed soul was Mr. V. V. Choudhary, a brilliant young advocate who had gone to England in the late 1920s to pursue his doctorate in Law and had later returned to Madras, now Chennai, to establish himself as a lawyer in the High Court.
Outwardly, he was an accomplished and rational man, trained to examine everything through logic, evidence, and argument, yet destiny had silently prepared him for an encounter that would melt even the sharpest intellect into devotion.
It was sometime in the year 1948, at the residence of one of his acquaintances in Chennai, that he received his very first Darshan of Bhagawan Sri Sathya Sai Baba. Swami was still very young in age then, but there was something in that luminous face crowned by that beautiful halo of curly hair, something in those vast oceanic Lotus Eyes overflowing with compassion and unfathomable mystery, that pierced directly into the depths of his being and left him inwardly shaken in a manner he could neither explain nor dismiss.
The meeting was brief… but its impact was permanent.
Questions arose within him.
”Who is this young boy?”How does such majesty radiate through someone so physically young?”Why does His mere presence create such peace?”
Unable to resist the pull of that unseen spiritual magnetism, Mr. Choudhary began making further enquiries about Swami, and before long, in the year 1949, he found himself travelling to the tiny, dusty village of Puttaparthi for the very first time.
Those were the early days. Prasanthi Nilayam had not yet been constructed. There were no grand buildings, no massive crowds, and none of the outward magnificence that the world would later associate with Bhagawan. Yet, those who were fortunate enough to spend even a single day near those Beautiful and Boon-bestowing Lotus Feet knew that no palace on earth could equal the spiritual richness of those sacred moments.
From then onward, it became almost a rhythm of his life. Every year, he would spend a few precious months in the divine proximity of Swami at Puttaparthi and then return to Chennai to continue his legal practice, carrying within him the fragrance of that soul-cleansing and absolutely satiating Darshan of the Lord.
Years passed in this manner.
Then came the year 1952.
It was the time of Deepavali, when homes across India glowed with lamps, laughter, and celebration. Mr. Choudhary’s eldest son, little Nageshwar Rao, was still a child then—playful, curious, and full of innocent enthusiasm. Like many boys during Deepavali, he too had become fascinated with firecrackers. After the celebrations, he began collecting the unburnt crackers that had been discarded, carefully extracting the powder from them and gathering it onto a sheet of newspaper.
The child had a simple thought in his mind.
“If I light this powder,” he imagined innocently, “perhaps it will burst beautifully like a flowerpot cracker.”
But childish curiosity sometimes dances dangerously close to disaster.
Instead of lighting the edge of the paper, the boy unknowingly placed the burning matchstick directly into the centre of the powder.
Within a fraction of a second, flames leapt upward violently.
A terrifying burst of fire engulfed his hand completely.
His screams shattered the festive atmosphere of the house.
The family rushed in horror. His hand had been severely burnt. Flesh had blackened, the skin had peeled, and the sight itself was enough to leave the entire household trembling with fear and helplessness. Mr. Choudhary immediately carried the child to the hospital where the doctors examined the injury with grave concern. Medicines were applied and temporary painkillers were administered, but the doctor’s face had already revealed what his words tried to soften.
“You must take him to the General Hospital and consult a senior specialist,” he said seriously.
Then, lowering his tone, he added words that pierced the father’s heart like arrows.
“The burns are extremely severe… much of the tissue appears destroyed… even the nerves and muscles may have been permanently damaged.”
The family returned home shattered.
The festive joy of Deepavali had vanished completely. Anxiety filled every corner of the house. Nobody slept peacefully that night.
And then…
At around three o’clock in the early hours of the morning, while the entire household lay asleep in exhaustion and sorrow, something extraordinary happened.
Young Sathya Sai Baba Himself appeared physically inside their house.
No doors opened. No sound was heard. Yet there He stood—radiant, serene, and divinely beautiful in His orange robe, His dark curls forming that familiar celestial halo around His face, and His compassionate Lotus Eyes overflowing with motherly tenderness.
Swami gently woke up little Nageshwar Rao.
”What happened to your hand?”_
He asked lovingly.
The boy, still half-awake and innocent in his simplicity, explained everything.
Swami listened patiently, as though a mother were listening to the pain of her own child. Then, with a graceful circular movement of His divine hand, He materialized sacred Vibhuti and lovingly applied it upon the burnt hand.
“It will become alright,” Swami said softly.
That was all.
The boy drifted back into sleep.
The next morning, Nageshwar Rao narrated the entire incident to the family. Everyone was stunned. Joy mixed with disbelief. The mother’s eyes filled with tears hearing that Swami Himself had come into their humble home in the middle of the night to bless their child.
Yet along with joy, another feeling quietly troubled her heart.
”My son was sleeping beside me,” she thought painfully, “Swami came… He spoke to him… He blessed him… but why did I not wake up? Why could I not see Him?”
The feeling stayed with her throughout the day like a silent ache.
And then, out of His infinite compassion that responds even to an unspoken feeling, Swami came once again the very next day.
This time, He appeared before the mother.
He blessed her lovingly and reassured her with words soaked in divine tenderness.
”Do not worry,” Swami said. “I will take care of your children.”
Those few words dissolved every trace of sorrow from her heart.
Meanwhile, Mr. Choudhary took Nageshwar Rao once again to the doctor for examination.
The doctor looked at the child’s hand… and froze.
He examined it again carefully.
Then once more.
Finally, unable to contain his astonishment, he looked up and exclaimed, _”Is this the same hand that was burnt?”
The severe destruction that had terrified everyone earlier had almost disappeared.
“It is ninety-nine percent alright!” the doctor said in utter disbelief.
No medical explanation could account for such rapid healing.
But the story did not end there.
About three weeks later,
Mr. Choudhary received a letter from Swami from Puttaparthi.
For him, that letter would become not merely correspondence… but sacred proof of Divine intervention.
In that letter, Swami wrote with simple affection that He had indeed come to their house and had blessed young Nagesh’s hand by applying Vibhuti. He further mentioned that the following day He had again come to bless and grant Darshan to the “Grihalakshmi” of the house—the sacred term Swami lovingly used while referring to the lady of the household.
And then came words that melted the hearts of the entire family forever.
What other work do I have?”
Swamy wrote
I consider your joy as My food.
I consider your happiness as My comfort.
I consider your welfare as My everything.
This is how I spend My time.
My only work is to look after My devotees.”
For this is how Swami moves among His devotees—not as a distant God seated in unreachable heavens, but as the very embodiment of Divine Love who silently enters the homes, hearts, fears, tears, and struggles of those who call upon Him with sincerity, watching over them with a compassion and love far deeper than even that of a thousand mothers.
