“This place has changed a lot”, the Pandit says. “Nowadays only a few great Saints remain in this region. One of them is Mataji from South India.” I am sitting in a tiny teashop next to the main temple of a small village in the deep Himalayan mountains. It is the only shop that is open at this time. I woke up at 4am and before enjoying the customary usually way too sweet Indian morning tea, decided to walk along Ganga Ji. At this time of the year, during Monsoon, Ganga is deep, muddy, powerful. Each day her water rises yet a little bit higher, sometimes flooding the front yard of tiny ashrams and huts at her banks. This morning the walk has led me to this small tea stall. While the rushing sound of Ganga plays a permanent soothing background sound, I listen to Pandit’s words, “Mataji lives here in the mountains for a very long time. She is a great Saint”. Mataji is a respectful expression for a female Saint. Mata means Mother in Hindi. I have encountered a number of Saints and Sages on my journey, but female Saints that have the conviction and courage to walk this path to the highest Truth, to God, to Self are much less. In this current era their spiritual journey and obstacles differ greatly from male Saints. I feel an internal pull and silently wonder how and where to meet this Mataji. It is only a few hours later that I stumble across a Baba in his cave on the banks of Ganga Ji. He too directs me to this Mataji and hints when she sometimes leaves her cave to visit the temple. Now I am determined to meet her. Only a few hours later the moment I enter the temple area, I see a woman in orange Sanyasi clothes entering the temple area from the opposite direction. While we seem to walk towards each other, I nervously decide to sit down on a bench next to me. Whenever I meet Sadhus I get nervous. My admiration for them and their chosen path humbles me when I stand infront of them. I usually don’t have questions to ask. This time is not different. My shyness in that moment forces me to win a few moments of time by sitting down on the bench. I nervously think what to do or say. “Go, go!” my friend, who accompanies me, pushes me. “I must go” I tell myself, push my shyness away and stand up at once. Fifteen twenty steps and I stand infront of her. “Are you Mataji from South India?” I ask. “Yes” she replies with a big loving smile and clear eyes. What follows are words from her to me that pierce my heart to the deepest core. When she speaks of God tears dwell up in her eyes. She wipes the tears from her cheeks while she laughs, almost like a mad person. It is as if she is drunk. Drunk with God. Drunk with Love. Like a mother, both her hands lovingly embrace one of my hands, while divine words continue to flow out from her. “Nobody can give you security. The only Truth is the Self. Let there be no doubt. Be with the Self. Be like a baby. God takes full care of you like a baby is taken care of by Mother.” Tears fill up my eyes while I experience her unfiltered Self. Love emanates through each cell of Her. Truth that my heart silently weeps for pours over my being. She speaks from experience. She knows. “Come visit me at my cave tomorrow” she concludes and gives me directions on how to find the tiny mud path to her hidden cave on the banks of Gangaji. “Yes” I reply, touch her feet and walk away.