If Truth Be Told: A Monk's Memoir (13 page)

I could see some sense in this, but what about the seeker who had reached the other shore? I couldn't see the wisdom in a lifelong vow of abstinence. Further, I thought it was unnatural and unnecessary. Besides, tantra offered a phenomenal way of transforming sex into a divine offering, and the only significant difference between ordinary sex and sex the tantric way is mindfulness.

Tantra insists on awareness—the awareness of each breath, thought and emotion. Sexual desire can destroy awareness effortlessly. When overcome by lust, all boundaries between right and wrong, between good and bad, blur very quickly. But tantric mindfulness turns even lust into an awareness of emotion, it transforms it into love. This is a subtle but powerful transformation because the next time any sexual thoughts occur, you don’t experience a tide of lust but a wave of love. And this is no ordinary feat but an extraordinary metamorphosis: you have just successfully transformed one of the most powerful and innate human urges into a divine emotion.

My experience brought home the understanding that love was undoubtedly the most powerful emotion, a wholesome expression of one's very existence. I realized there was no other emotion as complete and as healing as love. Even compassion may be a conscious choice, but love, love is the basis of our existence and therefore strikes a chord in our innermost being.

This is why the Vedas recommended the slow and steady path to self-realization rather than an abrupt or early renunciation. They endorsed the institution of marriage, a life of moderation, the middle way. It all made sense to me now. I understood why the greatest sages were married, why even Krishna, Shiva, Vishnu and Brahma had consorts. The message here was not that marriage would bring self-realization, but that it could work as a catalyst for spiritual transformation. This is what the greatest seers and yogis had grasped.

Essentially, a householder leading a truthful life and experiencing the various colours of life, in moderation, could reach the highest state of realization far quicker than a celibate tucked away in a religious order but constantly battling with his emotions. Sex was not an experience to be fought and despised but to be understood and accepted. My views about marriage, however, did not change. Love was good, physical intimacy was good, but I didn't want marriage. I was also aware that a successful stint at tantra didn’t mean I had experienced the ultimate state or that I had become an adept or even an expert meditator. One vision of Kali wasn't enough for me; I wanted to see the Divine again and again. Further, I had not yet attained the perfect stillness of the mind. During my meditations, my mind still wandered off. Nineteen years had gone since I first started meditating, and here I was, not much better than when I started.

Over time, I had become convinced that I needed a guru. Perhaps surrender to a guru was the way forward; a guru would be able to guide me and lead me to the ultimate state I so longed to reach. I genuinely believed that I wasn’t getting ahead in my sadhana because I hadn’t been initiated into the path of renunciation.

'Sirji?'

'Sirji?' Sandeep called me again.

I looked at him.

'We are at the railway station, Sirji.'
              I picked up the backpack I had brought from home this morning and said goodbye to Sandeep. I was on my way to Varanasi. There was no particular reason why I had chosen this destination except that I thought the great tantriks lived in Varanasi, and I’d be able to find a guru there.

              I first caught a train to Delhi as my connection to Varanasi was from there. In Delhi, I checked into a hotel for the night as my train was due to leave early the next morning. From my room, I called Canada and spoke to my mother and PB one more time. They both were unsuspecting, of course.

When I reached Varanasi, I checked into a lodge and went straight to bed. The next morning, I went to a cyber café. In addition to the individual emails I sent out to a handful of people, I sent a common note to almost everyone in my contact list.

The mail read:

Dear all,

Ever since I can recall, I have ached to dedicate my life to a higher cause, one different from just building material wealth. With that in mind, I have always wanted to go on a spiritual quest, a quest for the inner self. The time to pursue my mission has come, and I must start to give it some shape. My quest involves understanding and verifying the truth first-hand. The truth of self-realization, that is.

Will I be successful? I don’t know and it doesn’t matter. I will still go ahead with my plan. Is this what I really want to do? I am only so sure. Is it worth causing my loved ones the pain of separation? To be honest, I don’t have an answer to this question. Each one of us is unique and born with a different purpose. The ultimate goal may well be the same; the purpose generally isn’t.

The moment has arrived that I must embark on the spiritual journey of my life. For the last eighteen years, I have waited for this moment every single day. Please take care of yourself and each other. And know that it’s only my physical presence that is finding its nest someplace else, all else remains unchanged.

From this moment on and for an indefinite period, I shall not be contactable using any mediums of the twenty-first century :). I am leaving my phone behind. All my email accounts will cease to exist. And I do not have a permanent address. Any reply to this email will bounce too.

I am deeply grateful to you all for the extraordinary care, love and affection you have given me over the years. And I, from the core of my heart, beg for your forgiveness, for there must have been times when I hurt you with my thoughts, words or actions. If you forgive me, it’ll help me travel light.

I most reverently bow to the Divine in you.

Amit

Fatigued and dehydrated after a whole day roaming around the ghats, I couldn’t sleep. There was nothing more to think of where the past was concerned; I just waited for the night to pass. Eventually, I got up at 5 a.m., had a long bath and went to the breakfast area. It was closed. I made several trips to the restaurant over the next two hours but the result was the same. Somewhat flustered, I went to the reception where I found the employees sleeping; some were on the floor while others slept on the couch.

It was 9 a.m. by the time they started serving breakfast. The sun was shining bright and the mercury was already on the rise. My vision of starting my day really early was a dream as unreal as the last twenty-four hours. Manish didn't turn up until about ten. Finally, we left the guest house.

We went to a small ashram by the river called Sri Math. An old man, slightly hunched, came out and asked me where I was from and what I wanted. I told him I was in search of a guru who could guide me on the spiritual path. He asked me to follow him, telling Manish to wait outside.

I was taken into a room where two men were sitting. One of them was going through ledgers and accounts; the other, wearing white robes, sat watching. I bowed before the man in white. He began asking me questions like why I wanted to take sanyasa and whether my parents knew about it. He wanted to know where they were based, what they did, how many siblings I had, if I had a job or a business and why had I left it, what else I was  after… There were other questions as well but I can’t recall them now.

After grilling me for about ten minutes, he said, 'Guruji is at the Kumbh Mela in Haridwar these days.' From the outset, I hadn’t sensed even an ounce of divinity in this man, but had thought that my faulty vision and shortcomings were causing me to misjudge him. The other man asked me a few more questions about my educational background and then said he was happy to see someone like me, whatever that meant. He told me I should really be in Haridwar since all the saints were gathered there. I wasn’t keen on going to Haridwar or anywhere else for that matter. I was certain that God had brought me to Varanasi for a reason.

Just then, a short, fat man, also wearing white robes, entered the room. He sat on a couch and let out a loud belch. I didn't feel like bowing down before him, even though my culture and tradition required me to pay obeisance to someone in robes as they are a symbol of the dharma. I showed my discomfort at his mannerisms by not looking at him.

'Where have you come from?' he said.

'Ji, Delhi.'

'Are the trains on time these days?'

'Mine was late by four hours.'

'These rascals can never be on time, they were even born late.' And he burped again. 'I ate a bit too much.'

'Chotu! O Chotu!' He called out to someone.

A minute passed.

'O Chotu!' He raised his volume significantly.

'Ji, Babaji.' A young boy appeared.

'Why don't you ever answer the first time around? Even God appears faster than you do. Make four cups of tea.'

'Not for me, thanks. I don't take tea.' I said.

'We can get milk for you.'

'Thank you very much, but I’m fine. I just had my breakfast.'

'Make three cups then,' he said to Chotu.

'So you’ve had your breakfast. Where are you staying?'

'I’ve already been through this,' I said. I wasn't going to waste any more time here.

I offered my respects to the men, left a hundred-rupee note and got out of there as fast I could. Manish was waiting for me outside. I told him what a disaster the place had been. He laughed; I laughed too. Then, he suggested another place nearby I could explore. It turned out to be an old building and I was immediately attracted to it. Although all the buildings in this area were old, this one was particularly dilapidated. Looking at it, I was convinced I would meet a siddha here, some great yogi who sat behind its walls hidden from public view.

The main door was ajar. I knocked but there was no response. Manish pushed opened the door and we entered a courtyard. There was a giant peepul tree in the centre; its massive spread obscured a portion of the sky above. Leaves, soft and green, lay strewn on the ground along with dry brown ones. The walls were peeling; one could see the earlier coat of paint below the existing whitewash.

There was a small washroom near the entrance. I could see the floor was still wet, as if someone had just taken a bath. The tap was dripping and water was collecting in an old aluminum bucket. A mug of water sat close by, its handle broken.

Nearby, I saw a room with the door ajar. It had three single beds, while an old Naga sadhu lay on a rug spread on the floor. He looked as weary as his surroundings and was quite old, perhaps eighty. I realized he was gasping for breath. He kept pointing at his mouth and chest to convey he was unable to breathe. I had been asthmatic all my life, so I knew what it was like to struggle for breath.

I told Manish that we should take the sadhu to the hospital, and that I would pay for his treatment. Manish shook his head, saying he had been in the hospital until last week. He also informed me that there were other sadhus who lived there, and they would be back in the evening; this man was not alone.

'How do you know?' I asked Manish.

'I live around here, sir. I know this ghat and this baba too. You think anyone would leave this place unoccupied, and in this prime location?

The other beds did look like they were freshly done, and I could see the bathroom had been used. I felt the truth of Manish’s words: the sadhu was not alone. But I felt sorry for the old sadhu.

'Why isn’t he taking any medication?'

'He has no money for medication and the government hospital has no facilities to help him.'

'Let's take him to a private hospital. I'll pay.'

'And what if he dies on the way? The police will say you killed him because you wanted the ashram. We'll get into trouble with the law.'

Strangely, though cruelly, he made sense to me.

When we left the building, I told Manish I needed to take a breather. I sat down on the stairs outside. I could not erase the sight of the old sadhu from my mind. Even my life could end in a similar way, and I understood that I needed to be mentally prepared for this possibility. How was I any different from the gasping sadhu? He had renounced his past and so had I.

Questions flooded my mind. No one around, young or old, renunciant or householder, seemed to have seen God: What if there
was
no God? What if I had no Maker but had just evolved over time along with other species? Perhaps my search for the Divine would prove futile and I would end up like that sadhu, wasted and abandoned.

'How can a sadhu be dying like that?' I asked Manish.

'They are not real sadhus, Sir. They smoke pot all day. Some are even fugitives from justice.'

Despite this reassurance from Manish, I was unable to forget the old sadhu’s face for months.
              We went to another ghat after that. There, Manish took me to a temporary structure made from yellow tarpaulin. The door was open and I could see a Naga sadhu sitting on his knees, stark naked. A disciple stood near him. Wanting to meet the sadhu, I went closer to the entrance but the disciple stood up and asked me to keep away. Nevertheless, I peeped in. There was a bed on one side, some eighteen inches high, with a large lion skin spread on it. Numerous drums of food and other provisions were crammed into the hut and it was a messy little place.

I handed the disciple a fifty-rupee note. The man smiled.

'You want to have Babaji’s darshan? He knows everything. Before you even got here, he knew all about you,' he said enthusiastically.

Upon seeing that Manish was a local, he threw him a contemptuous glance. I made to enter the tent. Suddenly, the baba began shouting excitedly. The disciple hurriedly told me that since the ascetic had allowed me a glimpse of him, he wanted to be left alone. I was asked to leave.
I pulled out a hundred-rupee note, which the attendant took promptly.

'Babaji, he’s your devotee, he wants your blessings.' He turned to look at the holy man and showed him the money.

'Can I come in now? I asked.

'No, that’s not allowed.'

I pulled out another hundred-rupee note and he asked me to enter.

I left that very moment. Till now, I had been open to the possibility that the sadhu was an evolved being who was trying to keep me away as he didn’t want to meet people. But, when more money finally opened the door, I knew this was not my destination. For me, both men were naked: one had bared his body and the other had sold his soul. I was reminded of a couplet by Kabir:

‘
Guru jaka aandhara, chela hai jaachandh,
              Andha andhe theliye, dono koop parant
’

(The guru is blind, and so is the disciple. The blind is leading the blind, and both will end up in the well).

I continued to wander around with Manish. I wasn’t sure where I was going but I knew what I was searching for. Sometime later, a building caught my eye and I was irresistibly drawn to it. From where we were standing, I could only see the back of the structure. I told Manish I wanted to go there.

He took me up the flight of stairs to the road above the ghat and led me through another maze of streets until we arrived at the entrance to that building. There was a large iron door with grills; nestling within it was a smaller wicket gate. We knocked on this gate but no one opened it even though we could hear voices within. We waited and then knocked again. Finally, Manish put his hand through the grill and unbolted the door from the inside. We bent over to enter and found ourselves in a courtyard. To our right was a room; inside, four young men were chatting loudly. Across the courtyard was a small temple within which sat an older man.

Seeing us, he came out. 'Where are you from?' he asked, barely managing to open his mouth as it was full of paan. Here we go again. Another interrogation, I thought. After fielding a few questions, I said, 'I want to meet Babaji.'

No one had told me that there was someone called Babaji who lived here, but somehow, I knew. Call it intuition or plain hope. Rather than answering my question, the man pointed to Manish and said, 'Who is this lad?' He scanned Manish from head to toe. I had seen men leering at women, but this was the first time I saw a man’s gaze run over another man in this way. His eyes, however, were full of contempt.

'He’s my guide.'

'Hmm.'

'I want to meet Babaji,' I repeated.

The young men—they must have been in their late teens or early twenties—gathered around us. The man, who I discovered was called Mishraji, twitched his eyebrows, giving an instruction to the others. Two of them started calling out. 'O Dinesh Muniji, Dinesh Muniji! O Babaji, Babaji! Dinesh Muniji!' They called out over and over again until a door opened and a man stepped into the courtyard.

Dinesh Muni was a short, dark man with a sparse beard. His hair, jet black and a little curly, was tied behind his head. He looked at me with such disdain that I gave myself a hasty once-over to see if I was dressed alright.

'He’s the baba,' said the men in unison. I looked at Mishraji and he nodded.

'What do you want?' He wagged his head to put emphasis on his question.

'Not you, I want to meet Babaji,' I said.

I got everyone’s attention now because they thought I already knew who the bona fide baba was since I had refused to accept Dinesh Muni’s claim.  My conclusion, however, was based on my assessment of his energy and attitude. It was not hard to see that he was not a particularly evolved being. He projected no radiance, his speech had no depth. His voice cut through my thoughts as he told me that Babaji wasn’t there. Scolding the boys for disturbing him, he stormed off.

I sat down with Mishraji to find out more about Babaji. He explained that Babaji spent most of his time at another ashram about 80 km from Varanasi. I asked him for the address but he sounded reluctant to give it to me; perhaps he just wanted me to plead. I insisted. Finally, he gave me a vague idea, saying it was in a village called Kasvarh. 'Just get there and ask around. They will guide you,' he said.

He took pains, however, to tell me the things I had to buy for Baba. I was not to go empty-handed but take some items as an offering. He dictated a list that included two different types of sweets, dry fruits, a special pack of paan, the day’s newspaper, flowers and anything else I wanted to offer him.

I was ready to go and meet Baba the very next day. Manish said he wanted Baba’s darshan as well. I agreed. He had been with me for the last two days and deserved this opportunity as much as anyone else. At 6 a.m., I shook awake the people at the reception so they could unlock the main door for me. Manish was waiting for me outside. No shops, absolutely none at all, were open, so I couldn’t get any of the items I was meant to buy.

We asked an autorickshaw driver if he would take us there.

'All the way?'

'And back.' I added.

'That’s too far. No, I can’t. It will be expensive.'

'Tell me how much? Maybe I can pay.'