Raising the Dead

In the late 19th Century there was a French Physician by the name of Paul Sedir who was intrigued by Spirituality in such a way it became an obsession. Luckily, one day a holy occurrence was experienced by this physician and all his doubts were clarified once and for all. This is what occurred:

It was a cold, rainy, November evening in Paris. I had just returned from my patients, eaten my supper and lain down on the couch, being tired after my day’s long activities. As usual by evening, I had a slight fever and I knew that treacherous T.B. process in one of my lungs was the cause.

I was ready to retire to my bedroom, when the doorbell rang. I guessed what it would be, a patient who was too poor to afford to pay any other doctor. People already knew I never refused my services, and did not care about money.

The late visitor was a modest looking official whose wife was dying of T.B. He told me with tears in his eyes, that there was no hope for her, her hours were numbered, it was not help he wanted: it was too late. “But she is suffering so terribly,” he said, “her lungs are gone and she id suffocating. All I ask is that you relieve her last hours of agony. An injection perhaps, you will know best.”

I could not fail him. So I put on my overcoat, took my umbrella and we went out. We walked in heavy rain and wind. We were passing one of the street lamps when something prompted me to raise my head and look up. Beside the pole I saw a tall, well built man, with the figure of an athlete visible even through his expensive, well-cut clothes. His back was turned to me so I could not see his face. As soon as I came closer, he turned around and with great dignity politely raised his hat. He asked if I was a doctor going to a patient. When I confirmed this, he continued: “I beg your permission to go with you. There is just the possibility that I can be helpful.”

My first thought was that there was little help that could be given but when I saw his face, I had to agree instantly. So we three went on our way. The door of the unhappy husband’s home was not locked. In the hall was an elderly lady with a grief stricken face. She greeted us and said: “Too late my son, there is no need for a doctor, but an undertaker. She died soon after you went in a spasm of bleeding from the throat.” The husband wept at these words.

Then the three of us entered the bedroom. Two wax candles were burning on each side of the dead woman’s head. For a doctor there was no possible doubt that before us lay a corpse. Two young children knelt beside the mother’s deathbed. Tears streamed down the husbands face.

Than I heard the firm voice of the unknown man beside me, asking me if I would like to examine the body as I would need to for the death certificate. I told the man the woman was dead about an hour. A strange almost invisible smile crossed his powerful features. He spoke to the grief stricken husband, and his voice sounded grave. “Do you want your wife alive? Will you swear to me now, that you will always be good to her if she comes back?” The poor man replied, “it is not possible! See for yourself. Surely she is dead.” The voice of the stranger went on pitilessly: “I ask you only if you want her back again? And will you swear to me that she will never suffer from your behavior.” The husband agree.

Then the unknown man went close to the bed, took the head of the dead woman in his hands, bent down and whispered to her: “My dear, my daughter, come back again, return, they need you. It will be favorably counted to you, this sacrifice which you make.” When we heard that whisper, there was no doubt that she would rise from the dead. The dead woman lifted her head and opened her eyes, looking around as from another world. “I was dreaming,” she whispered. The unknown man lifted the lamps to her face. Before my eyes, the flesh began to reappear under the surface of her cheeks, neck, and shoulders, and the whole complexion returned to its natural color, instead of that of a corpse. “Be thankful to the almighty alone, for in his grace he has restored her to you,” he said gently. Turning to the husband he said, “And you my son, remember what you promised me.”

Reprinted from “Ways to Self Realization” by Mouni Sadhu.


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