If Truth Be Told: A Monk's Memoir (19 page)

Before I knew it, two months were up. I descended from my cave and offered my prayers at the Badrinath temple. I thanked the unknowable and divine powers for letting me stay and meditate there. Looking back at this time, I saw that I was able to experience brief periods of absorption, but hadn't achieved the complete cessation of thought. During my meditations, my mind would still wander off, and I would not be able to concentrate on the object of my meditation. Sometimes, people would visit me in the afternoon and the conversation would play in my head later that evening when I was meditating.

Physical austerity was only a small part, an insignificant part of my sadhana. What mattered far more was the mental discipline. I had to tame my mind. Completely. In extreme tranquility and concentration, I wished to witness a manifestation of the Divine.

I had to go beyond the chatter of the mind to have a true experience of samadhi. I knew I had to call Mother Divine in a state of
perfect
stillness, else I couldn't possibly hope to have her vision. I would have to increase the duration and intensity of my meditation and take my sadhana to the next level. I had to be in a place where no human being could approach me, where, day and night, I could immerse myself in deep meditation.

Until now, even though I had been meditating, the fire that I received was that of a matchstick. It was too little and too brief to give warmth or light, it wasn't enough to burn innate tendencies of my mind. To rise above my own mind, to completely burn my mental and emotional afflictions, I needed a wildfire, the fire of penance.

The scriptures clearly mentioned that with devotion and concentration, one could see the unseen, know the unknowable. This was my benchmark and the validation I was looking for. The Himalayas had given me a glimpse, but I wanted the full picture. By hearing celestial music and by experiencing intermittent periods of absorption, the Divine had only touched me. I wanted the full embrace.

              As planned with Pradeep in the Badrinath cave, I travelled to Odisha to find a secluded spot by the seaside. Over the next ten days, Pradeep and I ranged more than 500 km. There was never an uninhabited stretch of more than a kilometre or two for we encountered fishermen everywhere. We hired autorickshaws for entire days and also went out on a motorcycle to explore the area, but had no luck. We even went to distant towns by train but I couldn’t find a place suitable for my sadhana.

I prayed at the Jagannath temple, and then told Pradeep I was heading back to the Himalayas.

'Please, Swamiji, I've found someone like you with great difficulty and I don't want to lose you.'

His eyes filled with tears.

'I must leave for my sadhana, Pradeep. Once I am done, I'll establish contact with you,’ I reassured him.

Leaving him behind, I went back to the Himalayas to continue my search. I had heard of the Anasuya temple near a village called Mandal, and decided to go there. I got down at Chamoli, took a shared taxi to Gopeshwar and then another from Gopeshwar to Mandal. From Mandal, there was a trek of 4 km to the Anasuya temple. When I reached, two local boys, Babloo and Vinod, who were the sons of the temple priests, struck up a conversation with me. I told them I was searching for a place to meditate, and preferred a cave. They told me about a cave called Atri Muni Gufa, and agreed to take me there. It was a lovely site but not as remote as I would have liked; pilgrims to the temple often came here as well.

Meanwhile, something else occurred to me. As soon as I had arrived at Mandal village, before proceeding to the Anasuya temple, I had noticed a small, white structure in the far distance, high up in the mountains. Apparently, it was a tiny temple belonging to the local deity. The villagers told me that no tourists were allowed there because it was a wildlife sanctuary; only locals could go there to find firewood and hay for cattle. Some shepherds did have huts there, but these were old dwellings, built long before the area was marked as a reserve forest by the government. Upon asking, I was told that the huts remained unoccupied during the winter since the place was uninhabitable at that time. A deserted location. Dense woods. This was music to my ears.

I asked Babloo and Vinod if they could show me this hut. They informed me that it would take one full day to go and come back, as it was a steep hike of 6 km. They recommended I use the cave, saying it was a more practical option. Reluctantly, I agreed.

I paid them some money to buy a wooden plank, some provisions and a tarpaulin to cover the mouth of the cave, which was 5 feet wide. Then I went back to Haridwar to pick up my bag. I had left it behind because I didn’t know how long it would take me to find a place, and I didn’t want to carry my backpack around. But it wasn’t just for this that destiny sent me to Haridwar.

I had left my bag with an elderly sadhu I had met in Badrinath. His name was Swayam Prakash Brahmam and he was originally from Tamil Nadu. Presently, he lived in Kankhal near Haridwar. He was protective, even possessive, about me.

When I reached his place, another young ascetic was there with him.

He seemed a quiet, sincere seeker.

'You can have a darshan of Mother Divine,' I said, when I saw him looking at the floor.

His eyes lit up, and he said, 'Really, Swamiji?'

I nodded. 'You worship the Goddess.'

He had never told anyone this. He came and sat near me and told me his name was Swami Vidyananda.

'Please say something more,' he said.

I asked him to meet me the following day.

Swami Vidyananda came back the next day and said, 'Swamiji, I thought about you the whole night. I couldn't wait for dawn, I couldn't eat; I was so excited. What sadhana should I do for Mother Divine’s grace?'

'Self-purification.’

'Will you accept me as your disciple and guide me?'

'We don't need to label the relationship. I'll see you when I get back from the Himalayas.'

His big eyes welled up.

'Don't worry, Swamiji, I'll hold your hand and take you to Mother Divine,' I assured him. 'This is one swami's promise to another.'

'I saw in your eyes yesterday that you knew everything but I was scared to talk to you,’ he replied softly.

'No one knows everything, Swamiji. But I did see that you were special, a true devotee, and wanted to help you,’ I said.

I asked him not to accept money or any material gifts from anyone. I also told him that I would take care of his necessities for the rest of his life. He was no ordinary devotee. For years, he had cried for God, searched desperately for a guru and even kept an idol of Mother Divine on his chest every night while sleeping. He'd fasted, he'd chanted, he'd meditated, he'd done everything anyone had ever told him to. If anyone deserved blessings, guidance and direction, he did.

I travelled back to the Anasuya temple, this time with my bag. At the temple, I met with Babloo and Vinod and insisted on seeing the hut on the top of the mountain range. A strange force was pulling me towards it. Vinod finally agreed to take me there. We crossed several streams and walked through dense forests full of tall deodar trees. At times, hearing a sudden sound from behind a shrub or a tree, he would suddenly stop.

'Why the sudden halt, Vinod?'

'It could be a bear or a tiger, Maharaji,' he said, 'we have to be careful.'

I couldn't be certain whether it was because of my stint in the cave or my burning desire for God, but I didn't feel any fear.

The trek was a bit arduous, particularly because I had no proper shoes, only slippers. But the woods had a hypnotic quality about them, and I enjoyed the walk. It took us nearly three hours to reach our destination, and it was love at first sight. The place was extremely quiet and remote, and there was a water source nearby. Around the hut, there was an open field dotted by tall trees, behind which stood the majestic mountains. There was even a small temple not far from the hut. I couldn’t have asked for more. I also discovered there was another hut at a distance of about 200 metres, which would be ideal for Pradeep.

I had a message sent to Pradeep via his brother, since that was the only phone number I had. I wanted Pradeep to get in touch with me immediately. Even if he was to leave for Mandal right away, it would take him three days to reach me. I had to start my sadhana on 19 November, and there were just three days to go. Further, we had to be in the hut a day earlier so that I could start on time. Otherwise, I would have to wait another month for the right date according to the lunar calendar.

In the rituals of tantra, the lunar calendar plays a crucial role. Just like your vote only counts if you vote on polling day, not a day earlier or later, some sadhanas can only be started on certain days. This information is never fully documented in the scriptures to prevent abuse or misuse of the powers a seeker gains by way of mantra siddhi; it is usually communicated through an oral tradition.

Currently, the chances of Pradeep making it in time were unrealistically optimistic at best, and downright unrealistic at worst. However, when we called Pradeep’s brother, he said that Pradeep had left for Haridwar two days ago. He said he would pass on the message to his cousin who was supposed to receive Pradeep at Haridwar station.

Pradeep was already coming towards the Himalayas even though he had no clue where I was. Interesting. The Universe had planted a thought in his mind before I had even seen the huts. I wondered what he had been thinking. What if I had not made contact? How would he know where I was? The fact was, the Universe knew.

’Maharaj!' said Babloo, 'with your sankalp, you already had Pradeep start out two days ago!'

'Oh no, Babloo, not at all. I didn't do anything, I didn't even know two days ago. This is how the Divine operates.'

'What a miraculous coincidence then.'

'We use this word a bit too casually, you know. Coincidence generally means the occurrence of something in a striking manner without any causal connection. The truth is there are no accidents in the play of nature. The creation of this universe, our galaxy, the species of flora and fauna, the five elements, a near perfect ecosystem—none of this is a coincidence. Rain, storms, mountains, seas, trees … they are all there for a reason. Nothing is non-causal; everything supports a bigger cause.'

'You already know so much. I'm intrigued as to why you still need to meditate. Why do you want to go through hardships in the woods?'

'Like everyone else, Babloo, my mind can be talkative at times. It has been conditioned and has lost touch with its natural, pure state. I want to rise above this conditioning, above the intellect. I too have baggage to let go off so that I may become light enough to fly and see the world from a different angle.

'I no longer wish to be a balloon filled with water, heavy and unable to fly. If anything, I want to fill myself with unconditional love and light. Everyone is a balloon, you know. Some are full of waste water, while others carry a certain fragrance. When circumstances or situations prick them, they burst. But it's only when a balloon bursts that we really know what’s inside. Some stink when they burst, they let out foul words, they perform despicable actions; others emit a deep fragrance. I want to empty myself so I can fill the balloon of my life with love and light, with compassion and humility.'

Pradeep arrived in Haridwar the same night. His cousin picked him up, and he contacted Babloo right away. The following evening, Pradeep was sitting right in front of me. He had a fever, yet he had chosen to travel. The next day, Babloo went to the town to get provisions while Pradeep and I travelled to our destination.

My hut, at an altitude of 9,000 feet, was near the edge of a cliff. You could step out and, at a distance of less than 15 feet, fall over the edge. The hut had probably been used for cattle; it wasn’t really designed for a human being. The entire space was approximately 30 feet long and 10 feet wide.

The hay on the thatched roof was old and mushy, while the walls had numerous holes. One of the walls was made of concrete, and tilted at an odd 7
0
angle. Boughs of trees several feet long had been placed on the outside of that wall to prevent it from falling. How that wall withstood the massive and merciless Himalayan storms was beyond all reasoning. Perhaps it goes to show that when you are willing to bend a little, you may look out of place, but you will survive. The remaining three walls were made of planks of wood laid next to each other in a haphazard way. Due to the tilting wall, a gap had formed between the roof and that wall. As a result, during the rains, water would come in through the gap. In a corner of the shack, there was a little enclosure that could house six to eight cows, and that is where I used to bathe.

I began my sadhana on the night of 19 November. It was a beautiful night sky. A cold breeze was blowing gently, and the woods were quiet. When I started meditating, I knew that coming here was the right decision. The peace was profound. Only the locals knew this place and they rarely came this way because it was right in the middle of the jungle. Even people like Babloo and Vinod, who were born and brought up there, had never been in this part of the forest.

Initially, I meditated for a straight stretch of ten hours, starting at 2 a.m. I also meditated for shorter sessions ranging from 2 to 7 hours. At noon, I would go out to eat in Pradeep’s hut. This was my only meal in twenty-four hours, and consisted of three thin chapattis, lentils and, occasionally, a bowl of vegetables. It was due to Pradeep’s exceptional organization that we managed to get any vegetables. He had tied up with a villager to have the vegetables delivered once a week. This was not all though; Pradeep was a great help to me in other ways too. I used to perform a yajna after my meditation every day, and he would stock enough wood for me in advance. Every four days, he would also fill my bucket and another vessel I used for storing water.

After an hour in Pradeep’s hut, I would go back to mine. From 1 p.m. to 9 p.m., I would practise contemplative meditation. Meditation is predominantly of two types: concentrative and contemplative. In the first kind, you build your concentration. In the second, you use it to reflect on the nature of reality and your own existence. Contemplative meditation gives birth to insight, and it is this insight that changes how you see and interpret the world around you. Deep concentration leads to samadhi, and deep contemplation allows you to maintain that state while dealing with the challenges of the world. I alternated between the two types of meditation.

My sleep reduced drastically as a result of the intense meditation. The highly uncomfortable living conditions and the single frugal meal I had also affected my sleep. I would sleep from 9 p.m. to 1 a.m. A bath with ice-cold water would follow, while chilly winds blew through the holes and cracks in the walls of my hut. At 2 a.m., I would start my meditation and sit till noon the following day.

However, as my mind began quieting down, I could not sleep for even the four hours I used to. Reduction in sleep is a natural outcome of correct meditation. Why do we even sleep at the first place? It's because our body and mind need rest. The vital energies flow naturally in a restful state, making us feel refreshed after a deep sleep. Meditation does exactly the same: it rejuvenates your body and mind. I changed my routine and now slept from 9 p.m. to 11 p.m., after which I would begin meditating.