If Truth Be Told: A Monk's Memoir (24 page)

In one of the monasteries, I met a lama who told me about a senior lama doing rigorous meditation in the mountains. He spoke at length about this monk, who was now more than seventy years old. I was keen to meet him. I mentioned that I was well versed in mahamudra meditation, and had done countless hours of practise in it.

‘Don’t tell him this. He will get very angry with you,' he said.

'Angry?'
'Yes, because you practised it without any Buddhist lama initiating you.'

'Angry, did you say?'

'Oh yes, he will be really mad.'

At that moment, I decided I didn’t want to meet their senior lama. If he hadn’t overcome his anger all these years, what could he possibly share with me? What had he done in the past seventy years? What did he meditate on? What did he understand or let go? I quietly introspected on these questions. I was reminded of Naga Baba. Meditation, worship, praying, it’s all useless if we are unable to go beyond what holds us back.

I went to Gangtok and visited a few more monasteries, but met no one who interested me. I went to the Rumtek monastery, far away from the traffic, noise and people, and met a lama who had spent his life teaching Buddha dharma. I spoke to him briefly about my journey and recent experiences. He put his hand on my pulse and I shut down the involuntary system of my body. He was greatly moved to feel no pulse. I thought I was about to find out something from him, but he started prostrating before me instead.

The young monk who had introduced me to this teacher was present in the room. He was about to follow suit but I stopped them. He informed me that he had never met anyone who could do that, or sit in one posture for as long as I said I could. He also said that he did not know anyone who claimed to have deep physical sensations all the time.

This was a lama who knew Buddhist and Tibetan meditation like the back of his hand. He could perhaps give a far more enlightening and compelling discourse on meditation than I could, but here he was with no experiential understanding. He knew the Tripitaka, the primary texts of the Buddhist canon, by heart. He could expound the Hinayana, Mahayana, Vajrayana vehicles of Buddhism. He was able to talk about sutras and the tantric path … but how far can words take you? I shook my head, thanked him and left.

I was back in Kamakhya to meet the tantrik yogi on the appointed day. He was doing a
kriya when I arrived, and
there it was, lying in front of me: the severed head of a goat. It was the first time I had seen a severed goat’s head from such close quarters, and it was a strange feeling. It almost seemed alive, its eyes half open and lips slightly parted, exposing some of its small teeth. I felt sorry for the poor animal. Had they tried to slaughter it in my presence, I would have certainly stopped them.

‘Hold this between your thumb, index and little finger,' the tantrik said, and handed me a tiny vessel, no more than the size of half a thumb. He poured alcohol into it, made an occult mudra over it and asked me to drink the contents.

I’d never had alcohol. Also, I had fasted the day before as it was part of the initiation process, so I was a little concerned because I didn’t want to lose my equilibrium. I expressed my reluctance and the tantrik said, 'It’s not alcohol. It’s an offering to Mother Divine that been consecrated. Even if you are to have a litre of this, you won't get drunk. And never call this alcohol, for it is one of the pancha-makara ingredients.'

Pancha-makara is a set of five ingredients used in tantric rituals, and each of them starts with the letter ‘m’. The ingredients can be taken in their original form or substituted, depending on the nature of the sadhana. Along with the alcohol, I was given black oats, parched grain, coconut water and flowers. Finally, I took a sip of the alcohol—just enough to wet my mouth. I knew that this was the first and last time in my life I would have alcohol. In this way, I was initiated.

The bhairavi was wearing red that day. She looked beautiful, adorned with sparkling jewels and a red bindi on her smooth forehead. She had cooked a meal and wanted to feed me, but I was shy and didn’t let her. The food was delicious and I savoured it, eating more than usual at her insistence. The couple blessed me before I left.

On an impulse, I went to Lava, a place in the eastern Himalayas, and meditated for a month in an isolated little cottage. The sensations, however, did not subside. I was able to read and write now but not for long. One day, I entered into a deep meditation and prayed to Mother Divine for a solution. An inner voice guided me to do a yogic kriya of forty days. 'It will help you channelize your energies,' the voice said. 'You must harness the fire breath.' The breath of fire, also known as the breath from the solar channel, is the inhalation and exhalation from the right nostril. It significantly raises body heat and, therefore, is best done in a cold climate.

I went back to the northern Himalayas and meditated for the prescribed duration in a tiny hamlet called Rudranath, situated at an altitude of 14,000 feet. Rudranath is open only six months in a year because of the extreme weather conditions. I found a small hut in an isolated spot and decided to do my meditation there. Nearby was a beautiful Shiva temple. Though most temples have a Shivalingam, this one had an idol of Lord Shiva, a rarity.

I rigorously performed the yogic kriya. Exactly as the voice had predicted, the sadhana helped me harness my energies. The sensations did not decrease or die down though; instead, they intensified even more but were now concentrated in my forehead. My body no longer trembled and I found it much easier to read, write and walk. A stream of intense joy ran through my body like the Ganga flowing through the Himalayas.

When my kriya ended, I trekked down to a town called Gopeshwar and stayed overnight there. It was also time to let my loved ones know that they could see me again. I had promised them in my last email that I would re-establish contact soon after I attained self-realization. It was now time to honour that promise.

From my hotel room, I borrowed someone's phone and called my father.

‘I'm sorry I left you like that.' These were the first words that tumbled out of my mouth. I had lost the right or the privilege to call him ‘Dad’.

'That means you haven't understood me all these years, Swamiji. You went for a good cause and I have already accepted you as my guru. I offer a lamp and incense to your picture every day. You must treat me like any other disciple. You belong to the world now, Swamiji.'

While I wasn't surprised at his response because he had never interfered in my life, I was amazed by his reverence and acceptance. I wasn't expecting this. Actually, I wasn't expecting anything. I was simply keeping my promise to my family because I loved and cared for them. He handed the phone to my mother, and even though she was trying to sound strong and calm, her voice was choked. I also spoke to Rajan and Didi, and told them I would visit them in a couple of weeks.

Finally, on 7 October, I visited the place I had once called home. It was here that I wanted to receive alms for the first time. All my close family members were present. In their eyes I saw the pain that my parting had caused them. When someone dies, you can find ways to console yourself, but when someone you love deeply disappears by choice, and you don’t know where he is, it is pain of an entirely different kind.

Invoking Shiva and Shakti in my parents, I sat them down on a high seat and paid obeisance to them. Every elderly man was my father, every elderly woman my mother. The whole world was my family but I had no home. I belonged to everyone now but no one was my own. I loved everyone unconditionally, cared about people and felt their pain equally. I was not the doer now but a silent observer. I felt like the quiet mountains—giant and still, and the vast sky—clear and endless.

When I spoke to my father a little later, this was his first question to me: 'What message do you have for us?'

I said, 'The universe is trillions of years old, our galaxy and planet are billions of years old. The human race is a few million years old, while the average human life is seventy years. It's a very short life. It must be celebrated, it must be lived. Life is not a challenge that needs to be faced. Nor is it an enemy that needs to be fought. For that matter, it's not a problem that needs solving either. It's a flowing river, and all we need to do is to flow with it. Live. Love. Laugh. Give.’

I also met my mother privately. After asking me how I was, she said softly, 'The prediction has come true, word for word.’

'What prediction, Ma?'

She told me her conversation with the mystic before I was born.

'Why didn't you ever tell me this earlier?' I said.

'I never wanted to be a hurdle on your path. But, somewhere within, I had this hope that if I didn't talk about it, perhaps it wouldn't happen.'

‘Are you sad that I renounced?’

‘How can I be sad if it makes you happy, Swamiji? Today, I can say to the world that I’m the mother of a saint.’

Enlightenment does not mean you have to live like a pauper. It does not mean you have to subject yourself to a life of hardship and abstinence. On the contrary, to be enlightened means to live in the light of love, compassion and truthfulness. It means learning to live without reservations and inhibitions. Naga Baba did extreme practises all his life, yet he got furious on a daily basis over trivial matters. I have seen many teachers and sadhus who teach renunciation and detachment, yet are deeply attached to their own ideas, agendas and possessions. I have met young monks from monasteries who visit restaurants and shops, eager to enjoy things they can’t afford. Rather than begging or being a poor monk eyeing material comforts, it is far better to live in the world and be detached.

Your knowledge of rituals and the scriptures, the time you spend in places of worship, the money you raise for religious causes—such things, I am sorry to tell you, have absolutely no connection with God unless the heart is open to the Divine. Such acts will not even lead to an independent way of thinking, let alone enlightenment, unless you understand well that the objective of religious acts is to purify yourself and cultivate compassion and gratitude. The more you get attached to a cause, religious or otherwise, the more you restrict your own freedom. When you launch religious organizations, hoping to gain spiritual merit, not only are you mistaking illusion for reality, but chances are you will increasingly become more rigid. The most inflexible people I have met are generally the most ‘religious’. Religion is our creation. It is the middleman who over-promises and under-delivers and, what’s more, it rarely connects us to the right supplier.

Some scriptures say that this world is an illusion, or that after death there is a heaven and a hell. There may be an underlying substantive reality—the invisible essence in everything visible—but that does not make this world an illusion or unreal. The pleasure you experience during moments of intimacy, the joy you feel when your child smiles, the pleasure you get when you taste success, the high you experience when you attain your goal … these may be temporary but they are not illusory. The satisfaction and nourishment we get from eating food is a temporary experience too, but we do not stop eating or decide to go in search of a miracle pill so we never have to eat again.

The world may be temporary but that does not make it unreal. Nothing is absolute or permanent, anyway. The reality is that everything in creation is in a state of constant transformation; everything is interconnected and interdependent. Wisdom speaks only to those who are open to the truth, and insight does not speak at all; it just dawns. So, I cannot give you any insight, it must come from within. I can only share my own learning.

Krishna, Christ, Buddha and Muhammad shared their knowledge and their truth with the world, but they did not invent the light bulb, create fire, or invent tools for agriculture. We owe our gratitude to the minds who gave us these gifts as much as we do to those who have imparted great spiritual truths to us. Are we to say one is better than the other? We need both spirituality and science. We depend on religion and theology because we have lost faith in ourselves and in our fellow humans. As a result, we need external pillars to support ourselves. Self-realization is removing yourself from that support structure. You no longer require the pillars; in fact, you become a pillar of divine love and light.

This is a precious life and all religions, for better or worse, are mere concepts. The sooner you wake up to this reality, the quicker you rise above them. But truth is not a one-size-fits-all. It's a personal matter, a private affair. Einstein found it in a laboratory. Buddha found it under a tree. Edison found it in a light bulb. Socrates exemplified it by drinking hemlock and Christ exemplified it on the Cross. Bill Gates found it in Microsoft and Steve Jobs found his in Apple. What is your truth?

The eternal truth is that you have the right to live your life to the fullest. Every moment. This is the least you deserve. The fact that you are breathing and living means nature wants you, life wants you. As long as you have a compassionate view and you are not hurting others, everything—well, almost everything—is okay. Listen to your inner voice. This voice is the purest voice you will ever know. Your truth is also the greatest religion, the highest God. A sense of fulfilment comes from walking your own path. For some it may be meditation, for others it may be music, dancing, painting, writing or reading. Find what makes you happy and pursue it.

I am not your traditional sadhu or a celibate monk. I am not a ritualistic priest or a rigid preacher either. I just am my own truth, bared before you, without any expectations or agenda, free for you to interpret as you like. I invite you to seek your own liberation by finding what matters to you, by living your life to the fullest. Rewrite your rules, redefine yourself. Don't let life slip you by. You are a master of infinite possibilities.

I've given you my truth. Go, discover yours.