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We are talking about my Babaji again. In September 1975, a few months after I first met him, a new chapter began. I learned that Babaji was coming down to Bhavnagar at the invitation of my wife’s family. It was my father-in-law's birthday and also close to Diwali, so my wife sweetly suggested, "Let's go." and so, we went.

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Babaji was drawing me in, very slowly but surely. From Bhavnagar, he took us on a journey through Tulsi Shyam—a place I had never heard of and then to Dwarka, the great abode of Lord Krishna. We traveled through Surat, Baroda, and Rajkot, a caravan of devotion moving across Gujarat.

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There was a routine Babaji followed. Every morning at 4 o'clock, he would sit by the havan kund (fire pit). After the prayers, he would apply chandan (sandalwood paste) and a tika on the foreheads of all his devotees. Now, I had never done that. I had never had a tika applied to my forehead. I was still a distinct onlooker from a distance, enjoying the bhajans but keeping my guard up.

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There was this one young man, a devotee we called the "little Mahatma-ji." He had a habit of calling me "Mahatma-ji" too. "Come, Mahatma-ji," he would say. It used to annoy me. I would think, I am no Mahatma. I can't live up to that image. Why do you mock me?

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But that particular day in Dwarka, everything changed. Babaji sent a message through that same little man: "Call Mahatma-ji to come in the morning for the chandan."

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I don't know what came over me. It was early morning, the water was cold, but I took my bath and went. I stood in the line with the others. When my turn came, Babaji didn't just apply the paste; he caught my head in his hands and firmly applied the chandan and tika.

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For the first time in my life, I wore that mark. I don't know if it was a miracle, but it was a great moment. Was I changing? Was I becoming a devotee? I couldn't answer that then, but I knew one thing for sure—a positive change was impending. I just didn't know how or where it would lead.