In plain words
This news quickly spread through the villages round about. Many came and asked for medicines to cure their illnesses; extracting the juice of leaves, giving the pulp of leaves, by such means He went on curing illnesses. While things were so, all of a sudden one day, at the break of dawn, He was not to be seen. ‘Well, where has He gone, who knows?’ The poor villagers searched and searched for Him and lost hope. Then, in 1858, about four years later, He came back to Shirdi. What happened in between?
Near Aurangabad there was a village called Dhūp. In that village of Dhūp lived a man of the middle class. He was Chāndbhāī Patel. In those days there were no proper means of travel. Everyone kept a horse, to go to other villages. One day Chāndbhāī Patel mounted his horse and came to Aurangabad on some urgent business. While he was seeing to his work, his horse broke loose and went off. So he was coming back to his village on foot. Midway along the road there is a dense forest. In those days there were forests all round every village. In that dense forest a fakir was sitting under a mango tree. He was absorbed in some thought of His own. Chāndbhāī Patel, having searched and searched for his horse, was going along very tired and in despair. On the way this fakir drew deeply on His hookah and gave it to Chāndbhāī Patel too, to draw on. ‘Why are you so sad, Patel?’ He asked. ‘How do you know I am a Patel?’ said the Patel. ‘I know everything. You are very worried about your horse. You are searching with your eyes set on top of your head, not with them set on your forehead. If you set them on top of your head, the things above are seen. But how can the things below be seen? Fool! There, under that tree, your horse is grazing. See for yourself and go,’ He said. When Chāndbhāī Patel went there and looked, there was his horse! The wonder of it! In that very place Chāndbhāī Patel had set labourers to search for days on end for his horse.