In 1975 under challenging circumstances, I set up a medical practice in the city of Ruwi, in Sultanate of Oman in the Middle East. The country was in the feverish grip of development, with building projects of the seaport, highways, oil refineries, hospitals underway, requiring thousands of workers.

Our little family of my wife and two daughters, then only 2 and 3 years old, with barely $200 in hand, rented a two room flat in a newly constructed building, designated half to the clinic, and began life in a foreign land.

Hard work had us on an even keel within a year. In 1976 a friend invited us to a movie called Shirdi ke Sai Baba and our lives began to be gradually touched by his touch. We knew nothing about him before then.

In the next few years Shirdi Sai Baba became part of our family. About this time, people around us mentioned that there was no place one could go for Sai Baba’s Arti, so my wife and I turned our little home every Thursday into a place for Sai’s evening Arti, with scores of other expats attending. Word spread soon.

Ashok, 24, a quiet, subdued young man from India with a disability in one leg, was a regular participant. One day he informed me that he was going to Shirdi. On his return from India he came by, anxious to tell his tale.