If Truth Be Told: A Monk's Memoir (15 page)

Baba was quite pleased to see the AC, power generator and fixtures for his cottage, but nothing could be installed until the renovation was complete. Thus he asked me to supervise and speed up the renovation of the cottage. I did so willingly, though it was a challenge. Even while the work was going on, I had to walk barefoot on the floor, which was covered with cement, sand, dust and other construction materials. Although he wasn't living there and the place was under construction, this was his home and no one was allowed to enter with shoes on.

I cleaned my feet daily, but it was the same story the next day. My heels cracked really badly, and blood would ooze out. Unable to bear the pain, I once visited the construction site with my flip-flops on, but it turned out to be a bad idea as everyone thought I was being arrogant. Nikki complained to Baba though he didn't say anything to me.

I didn't mind the discomforts at the ashram because I was there for my sadhana, and saw them as ways to serve my guru. Was my devotion towards Baba so weak that I would crumble at the simple task of handling his construction or walking barefoot? Wasn't I supposed to rise above the slavery of my body? Hadn’t I spent the first thirty years of my life mainly looking after my body? A lack of food or of the absence of respect was a small price to pay for learning the secrets of sadhana.

Anything that pushed me beyond what I was used to enduring would take me to a new level, I thought. But I was desperate to immerse myself in meditation so I could see Mother Divine and experience samadhi. I was looking up to Baba to guide me, to direct me, but it was rather hard to even get a private audience with him because Nikki was always around. She used to study in Baba's school but since he owned the school, the rules were relaxed for her. Any private time I got with him was the best part of my day.

On one of these rare occasions, I asked him, 'Baba, I really want to see God. It's possible, right Baba?’

'What isn't possible with penance? Mother Divine is waiting with open arms for her child's loving call.'

I was moved to tears. I wanted to see Mother Divine, I wanted to play in her lap.

'Baba, I'll be eternally grateful if you can share with me any experiences you’ve had with the Divine.’

He chuckled and began narrating an incident. I listened with rapt attention.

'I used to be big and strong and regularly participated in wrestling competitions. Once, when I was around nineteen years old, we were three sadhus travelling to a different village to take part in a wrestling competition. On the way, we stopped by the riverside and took out our lunch. From a distance, we saw a tall sadhu coming our way, walking briskly but gracefully. His face glowed.

‘I joked with him saying, “What's the rush, Maharaj? Are you running for alms? Come, I'll feed you.”

‘This angered him and he chastised me saying, “You have become a sadhu but you don't possess any of the traits of a sadhu.”

‘I teased him again and said, "Really? So you tell me what a sadhu is supposed to be like?"

‘He asked me to follow him if I really wanted to know. I took one of the bicycles, and told my companions that I would see them later at the competition venue. The sadhu took me to a cremation ground. There was a small temple there with an idol of the Goddess. He had me sit in front of the idol.
“
Now you will be able to see with your own eyes.” He closed the door and it became dark inside. Lighting a lamp, he began to chant a cryptic mantra. After he finished, he said, "I'll wait for you outside.” He left, shutting the door behind him.

'A few seconds later, the idol began to dance. It was a stone idol and seeing it dance made me really scared. I was sweating in fear and, if it wasn't a temple, I would have easily wet my loincloth. I stood up but the idol didn't stop dancing. I also began to hear strange sounds—the howling of jackals and dogs, flowing water, thundering clouds—and I was terrified. I sat down again, but the energy continued to become more intense and unbearable. I could not take it anymore and sprang up. Without bowing, I flung the door open. Outside, the mahatma was waiting. "So? What did you see?" he asked.

‘The arrogant fool that I was, I didn't want to admit that I had been humbled. "I saw nothing," I said. “Get lost, you pig, your face shows you are lying,” said the sadhu.

‘Falling at his feet, I asked for his forgiveness and requested him to accept me as his disciple. By lying, however, I had lost him. "I can't teach someone like you, you'd better get out of here,” he said.

‘I went to the cremation ground several times after that, but never found him again. I sat in that temple at night, during the day, with the door open, with the door closed, but the idol did not dance again, nor did those sounds ever return.'

Baba became quiet after that. I bowed before him in gratitude for the experience he had shared with me. I wanted to ask questions about sadhana, but I had not the courage to break the sublime silence.
'I'm here, Bauji.' Nikki's arrival brought an end to our conversation. Two devotees from the village also arrived and started pressing his legs, which was something he really enjoyed. It was now afternoon, and he always napped in the afternoons. He signalled to me to leave.

Daily, Baba asked me if I was actually serious about taking sanyasa diksha. ‘I became a sadhu because my teacher used to beat me at school and my father used to beat me at home. I ran away at the age of nine. I'm curious as to why you want to renounce? You’re educated, healthy, young and good-looking. It doesn't make sense.'

I smiled at his compliments. 'Because I want to see God, Baba. I'm not interested in material life.'

'That's fine, but I don't believe that your mother is okay with your decision.'

'No one knows where I am presently. But I had always told my mother that I would go away for my sadhana one day.'

'Guru, I won't initiate you till I speak to your mother.' Sometimes, he affectionately called me ‘guru’.

One morning, I recall it was 31 March, Baba asked me to call my mother. This was not something I wanted to do but I couldn't refuse him. My mother was in Canada with my brother at the time. I called the house from Baba's phone and Ma picked up. She was overwhelmed to hear my voice. I told her I was alright and that my guru wanted to speak to her.
Baba said to her, 'Yes, my daughter, he has approached me for sanyasa. Should I make him a mahatma?'

'Babaji,' said my mother, 'He's been like this since early childhood. Please bless him so he becomes such a great soul that I may say to the whole world, “I'm the mother of a mahatma.” ’

Baba uttered some words of blessing and put the phone down. He was over the moon. 'I'm happy today that your mother has blessed and approved of your sadhana. Now, I'll certainly initiate you on the path of renunciation.' This was the last time I spoke to my mother during the course of my sadhana.

He began to sing a song in Bhojpuri that I didn't understand, and Nikki started laughing. Some schoolteachers came into the room and my guru turned to them. 'Today, I spoke to his mother.' Baba related his conversation and then quoted a verse from the
Ramcharitmana
s:

'
Putravati jubati jag soi, raghupati bhakt jasu sut hoi.

Nataru bhanj bali baad biyani, ram bimukh sut te hit jaani
’

(Many mothers give birth to sons, but a real mother is the one whose son devotes his life to a good cause. Otherwise, her going through the labour pain is a waste. A woman who expects welfare from a selfish son is better off being barren).

'Sarvananda. Swami Sarvananda.' He gave me the name right there.

I prostrated before him.

'I'll make you a siddha,' he added.

I folded my hands and said, 'Ji, Baba.'

'You already have everything, you just have to travel a little bit. You are born with it.'

I felt deeply humbled.

My date of initiation, however, was postponed a couple of times. Finally, on 11 April, Baba initiated me. My head was shaved, and I dropped my old clothes. I was given a set of robes and a loincloth, my secret mantra and the new name but, most of all, I was given the privilege of taking a pledge only a sanyasi was allowed: 'I hereby renounce the transient material world, and enter into the life of a renunciant.'

Like butter melts on a hot plate, those words melted something within me. Just as dew drops vanish upon the emergence of the sun, the chattering mind disappeared, and a feeling of great calm engulfed me. I felt like a tree after a heavy rain: new and vivified. Suddenly, I knew the purpose of my life, of this birth; there were no more confusions within. The light of the blessings of my gurus, the lineage of siddhas to which I belonged now, had dissipated the darkness of my vikara, negative tendencies.

All I needed now was a vision of God, the Supreme Soul. I craved to see a manifestation of the eternal essence, but craving did not equal preparedness. I thought I was ready but the Goddess had a different view. She knew I had a long way to go, and she was right.

The day after my diksha, Baba was sitting on the floor in his room, dressed in his black robes. He was wearing the tripundra, religious mark with three horizontal lines and a small red dot, on his forehead, and his beautiful, matted locks hung down to the floor.

              The door opened, and the construction workers came in. They wanted their outstanding wages. A disagreement ensued between Baba and the men over the wages, and he suddenly started hurling abuses at them. I had never seen a sadhu swear and watched, horrified, as the abuses became more graphic and intense. Trembling in fear, the workers quickly got up and left. I was confused. I didn't know what was more appropriate: to leave when I wasn't asked to or to sit while my guru was furious.

Just then, Nikki entered the room with a cup of tea for Baba, and I was relieved. She sat near him while he drank his tea quietly. Then he asked me to leave the room. I went out and sat near in the shade of a young tree. I couldn't get back to normal though. I never thought that my guru, my siddha, even knew such words, let alone utter them in rage. I was besieged by doubt. I wondered what I was doing there, and if I was in the right place. Had I made a mistake?

I couldn't understand what Baba had actually accomplished in his sixty-five years of sadhana if he could still get angry like that, like any ordinary person. Immediately, I felt guilty for having such thoughts. The holy books state that a disciple must have absolute obedience for his guru. I told myself that he must have had his reasons for behaving the way he did. Perhaps it was a test for me. I chastised myself for doubting my guru.

'Bauji
is calling you.' I looked up to see Nikki standing there. I went back into Baba’s room and sat down near him.

'Don't worry about today's incident,' Baba said. 'Some people can only be sorted out with a stick. I'm an old man and I can't change myself now. Just don't be near me when I get angry because it can get very nasty,' he said, before dismissing me.

I came back to sit under the tree, my mind in a whirl. Although I was shocked, I didn't think any less of Baba; he had been a sadhu for more than sixty-five years, while I was just thirty years old. I didn't feel qualified enough to judge him. And where was my surrender if I doubted him? Besides, he hadn't invited me or asked me to become his disciple. It was a choice I had made and I expected myself to take responsibility for my choices. I also told myself that I needed to move beyond my judgements and conditioning. Rather than imposing my idea of how my guru should be, I had to learn to accept him as he was, and to live the way he wanted me to.

While I could train my mind to think this way, my body was less forgiving. I was finding it hard to adjust to the diet, living conditions and the weather there. To make matters worse for me, the ashram was surrounded by golden wheat fields, and I was allergic to husk. My medication often proved to be ineffective; I was wheezing and gasping for breath much of the time. The pollen in the air blocked my nostrils and eventually led to severe bronchitis. I would have to get up every few minutes to spit out the mucus. In the mornings and afternoons, since I usually sat near Baba, I had to walk a fair distance before I could spit.

Baba used to sleep outside on a wooden bed, while I placed my mattress on the uneven brick floor near him. The mattress was just a thin layer of cotton wrapped in a sheet, and it took me a while to get used to sleeping on it. I would spend the nights dodging an insect the locals called ‘kutki’, which means ‘pinch’. Unlike a mosquito, it didn’t need to locate your vein to suck out blood; it would simply pierce your skin anywhere it wanted and leave an itchy, slightly swollen mark. Baba had a mosquito net that was good enough to keep these insects out, but I had nothing. No matter how I covered myself, they would manage to get in and I would wake up with little red swellings all over my body. Showing the bites to Baba one morning, I asked if I could get a net like his. He told me to be strong. Bathing wasn’t easy either. When I bathed, my body itched as I couldn't get used to the water. I had to use a handpump to draw water from the ground, and was reminded of the handpump we used to use at home when I was a child. There was an electric motor here as well, but it was reserved to fill Baba's water tank. Everyone else had to use the handpump.

Pumping water was the least of my concerns. I was willing to do anything for Baba; I didn’t want to bother him with any issues, minor or major. I wanted to be his source of joy, not tension. Besides, he had too much going on and I didn't want to add to his already full plate. He had announced publicly now that he was going to build a temple as well as a college for girls. The foundation stone for the college had been laid by none other than Baba Ramdev, the popular yoga saint. Construction had started but there was a shortage of funds. The news was spreading in the village that Baba would not be able to finish the construction unless he sold some of his land.

After I had been at Baba’s ashram for nearly three weeks, he summoned me one day and shared his concern about the construction of the temple and college. He said that while he was expecting money to come through in the near future, he was completely broke right now. I told him not to worry, assuring him that whatever I had was his. Baba asked me to withdraw Rs 5 lakh from my account. I informed him that this amount might not be sufficient as we needed to order building materials as well. So he told me to withdraw Rs 6 lakh instead, which I did.

Baba was pleased to get the money. He said a huge burden was off his mind since the construction work could now proceed. He felt it was a matter of honour to finish this project. I told him that as long as I was there, I would protect his honour with my life.

But it seemed Baba wasn't interested in my life. Soon, I was practically made to starve. Something strange happened just three days after I gave him that wad of money: he asked me to not touch his morning milk. I said as usual, 'Ji, Baba,’ but was taken aback. Till now, he had allowed me a glass of milk every morning from his supply, and this used to be my morning meal. It was hard to take medication for asthma with just milk, but I had little choice. Luckily, I managed to arrange for a regular supply of biscuits to go with the milk.

I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on. Was Baba testing me? One day after my initiation, I saw him swearing. Just three days after taking the money, he was asking me not to touch the milk. I had no idea how I would survive or take my morning medication. Why was Baba doing this? Once again, there were no answers, just guilt at doubting my guru.

I tried to figure out where I could get milk, and suddenly thought of Shesh Muni. A worker used to bring him 1 kg of milk every morning from the village. When I asked Shesh Muni if I could also buy some milk, he flatly refused. 'You must learn to endure hardships,' he said. I was neither surprised nor taken aback since this place was starting to feel like Wonderland: anything was possible, and I was Alice. I pulled myself up and decided I would just have biscuits and water in the morning; I wouldn’t die on such a diet.

Shesh Muni’s reaction wasn’t surprising for another reason. The villagers had told me that he used to be an angry young man before he became a cranky old one. Once a householder with four children, Baba had ordered him to become a renunciant when he was thirty-five, and initiated him into sanyasa so he could be in Baba's service on a full-time basis. He never wanted to live this way, but he devoted his life to his guru.

Now about seventy-seven, there was no one around to take care of him. He was in a frail condition, and as good as abandoned. I felt sorry for him. He once told me that he felt ripped off and betrayed by people, and life was far better when he was a householder with a family. I could now understand why he wanted me to suffer. Suffering results in two types of people: those who become soft and gentle and do everything they can to ensure no one else has to suffer; and those who become hard and bitter, subjecting others to what they went through.

Shesh Muni’s health began to worsen while I was there. He decided to go back to his wife and children for a brief rest. Before he left, he disconnected his gas cylinder and put it away, but left behind a jar of wheat flour and lentils for me. The only way I could prepare meals now was on the kerosene stove, and this was a tedious and time-consuming process. I had to take someone's help. A lady who used to sweep the school agreed to cook a meal for me, and without onions and garlic at that.

Onions and garlic are considered tamasic as they induce aggression and lethargy in the body. I was supposed to avoid such foods until my sadhana was complete. The lady told me that she could only come once a day, so I decided to divide the food she cooked into two parts: one for lunch and one for dinner. When I ate the chapattis, however, I felt as if I was biting on sand. We soon discovered that the wheat flour Shesh Muni had left behind was from an old batch of wheat grains that hadn’t been washed before it was ground. As a result, the flour had fine dust in it. There was no way to sift and cleanse it. I was more amused than annoyed at Shesh Muni’s largesse.

I managed to live like this for nearly a month. I chewed my chapattis very slowly, and ate just enough to survive. Could I not have asked someone to get me some more wheat flour from the market? Well, I had brought it to Baba’s attention but he told me not to complain. I was not going to die eating that flour, he had said.

Shesh Muni returned a month later, and asked me to make my own arrangements for food. He didn't want me eating in his room. I suspected he wanted to make things so difficult for me that I would run away. But I was here for Mother Divine, for my guru; everything else was immaterial.

Since I couldn’t cook in his kitchen anymore, I started looking elsewhere for food. I asked the construction workers, who were only too happy to share their food with me. They ate very spicy food though; even a single bite would give me heartburn because I always ate food with minimal or no spices. Their chapattis, called tikkar in the local language, were monster chapattis. Ten of mine were equivalent to one of theirs. I would only take one-fifth of that thick chapatti and gnaw on it. Poor themselves, it wasn’t easy for them to cook a meal especially for me, without onion and garlic. So, after a few days, I stopped getting food from there as well.

Now, there was no food at all, and I had to return to a diet of biscuits and water. I approached Baba and pleaded for a tiny space somewhere where I could cook my own food. He said that was not a problem; I could cook in his kitchen. He told me to get the necessary ingredients but keep them separate from his. I went to Ranjay Pandey's place, and he willingly arranged for a gas stove, gas cylinder, utensils and other items for me. I returned to the ashram quite excited. Finally, I would cook and eat to nourish my fast deteriorating body. I'd lost more than 15 kg.

When I prostrated before Baba and told him I had got the kitchen equipment and utensils, Nikki objected. Baba turned around and told me that I couldn’t cook in his kitchen; he asked me to set up my kitchen in the foyer. Feeling helpless, I simply said, 'Ji, Baba.' He went on to inform me that we were leaving for Vrindavan to meet a famous swami, and I could set up my kitchen later. Before we left, Nikki told Baba that his gas cylinder had finished, so Baba asked her to use my new one till his was replaced. My kitchen, incidentally, never saw the light of the day as Baba later asked me to find some other way to eat.

We packed ours bags for Vrindavan. Several other people came along with us. In Vrindavan, Baba happened to see a nice cottage fitted with amenities, and expressed his desire to have a cottage like that. He looked at me and said he wanted me to get this done. I bowed. Baba estimated its cost to be around Rs 1 lakh, but seeing the kind of things he wanted it fitted with, I knew the cottage would cost twice that. He told me I was a fool and that he would get it done in less than Rs 1 lakh. As soon as we came back from Vrindavan, he asked me to go to Allahabad to find some specialist construction workers who knew how to build permanent thatched structures. I went and met them, and they gave an estimate of Rs 2.5 lakh. Baba instructed me to withdraw around Rs 3 lakh and get the project finished.

Apart from overseeing the construction of the cottage, I was assigned other tasks as well. Routinely, Baba asked me to go from door to door in the village in the excruciating heat to promote his school. Fortunately, I was on a motorcycle being driven by someone else. Then, Baba asked me to teach English to his schoolchildren. I divided them into groups and started teaching them, but I found this physically challenging because, surviving on biscuits and water, I was always exhausted.

  Baba said he also wanted me to oversee the construction of the college and the temple. In addition, he gave me the task of managing the finances of the school. Eventually, he asked me to assume responsibility for the entire operation of the college and school. To each of these orders, all I said was ‘Ji, Baba’. I wanted to be able to put my hand on my heart and say that, as a true disciple, I did everything I could for my Baba; I wanted my surrender to be complete, else it would be meaningless.

Meanwhile, the physical environment continued to test me. One night, I was sleeping on the floor and woke up with a sharp, burning pain in my right shoulder. I used to keep a small flashlight with me as those were days of extreme heat, and all sorts of snakes and scorpions were out and about. I examined the area around my bedding with the flashlight, and saw a scorpion scurry away. The pain was extremely intense, as if someone had put a burning ember on my skin. Just then, probably because of the venom, I had an attack of diarrhoea. I knew Shesh Muni had medicine for scorpion venom. I had to go there right away but I also needed to empty my bowels. It was a strange dilemma.