Sex, Lies, and Two Hindu Gurus — Telling Their Secrets and Finding My Truth

by Karen Jonson

  Meanwhile, if Swamiji had his way, the devotees would have lived together in holes in the wall, eating tasteless food, and driving beat-up old cars. He preferred people to live in one room, and often complained, “I don’t know why anyone needs more than one room to live in.” He once came into my bedroom and said I had too many pillows on my bed. (I had five, which was one less than what he had on his own bed.)

  Swamiji expected the ashram kitchen to spend the minimum amount on groceries. We weren’t allowed extras like salad dressing, pickles, or crackers. This frugality, our vegetarian diets, and a lack of creativity among the cooks resulted in a pretty boring diet centered around rice, dal, bread, and overcooked vegetables. It’s no surprise that many of the devotees would frequently cook their own meals or eat away from the ashram when they could.

  Maharaji ran his ashrams in India with even greater austerity. He packed four to five people into each room, and fed them extremely bland food, including coagulated rice, watery dal, leathery rotis, and an occasional vegetable such as waterlogged loki (a cross between zucchini and cucumber). Even the daily tea became extremely watered down over time. He once said: “If you don’t like the conditions in my ashrams, then leave.” His view was that devotees came to his ashram for devotional upliftment, not material comforts.

  Meanwhile, he would retreat from the suffocating prayer hall to his air-conditioned, luxurious bedroom, where servants would ply him with the most sumptuous vegetarian Indian cuisine imaginable. Whenever he traveled outside of the ashrams he was chauffeured in a custom-fitted Mercedes Benz. But after awhile, even that luxurious vehicle was not good enough. In 2008 the organization purchased a helicopter so that Maharaji could travel more swiftly from city to city, swooping onto rooftops from Delhi to Nepal like an army general preparing to dominate the recruits.

  Clearly, Swamiji and Maharaji taught from the gospel of: “Do what I say, not what I do.”

  50

  Returning to India

  One Last Trip

  WHILE THE MAJORITY OF Swamiji’s devotees clamored for return trips to India, I shuddered at the thought after my nightmarish experience.

  Even watching the home videos made during the other devotees’ trips was too much for me to take. Every time I viewed scenes filmed in the ashrams, I would relive the feeling of being trapped, of the disgusting smells, and the disgusting food. I’d feel the crush of oppression from the heat, the foreign culture, and the chaos. It depressed me almost as much as actually being in Maharaji’s ashram had.

  That’s why I was blindsided by my decision to return to India in December of 2003. This surprising turnabout was triggered by a particularly grueling work experience that left me feeling, once again, that the world is merely the realm of pain and suffering and that I must improve my devotions to escape maya. That evening I learned that a group of devotees was going to India for the New Year. On the spur of the moment, I asked if there was room for one more. There was. Without putting much more thought into it, I began the ritual of preparing to once again live in a remote village in a third-world country for a month—packing toilet paper, medicine, snacks, and every other little thing that would be hard to come by.

  There were at least a couple of positive aspects to this trip over the last one. One was that it was winter, so at least it would not be insufferably hot. The second was that the group was small: only about twelve of us. I considered this group to be fairly easy-going people compared to many of the devotees. The actual trip to India was extremely pleasant. We flew Air France and the food was delicious. Also, because the plane was not full, we had room to stretch out and sleep. Plus, we watched movies of our choice on the tiny screens on the back of each seat. This was a vast improvement over flying with seventy demanding adults in the middle of India’s congested peak summer travel season.

  We had a few days in the Barsana ashram before Maharaji arrived from Mangarh, which meant we had time to catch up on our jet lag. Our first glimpse of him occurred in Vrindavan on New Year’s Day. As is his tradition, he was sponsoring a davit (feast) for the New Year. We all took the two-hour bus ride from Barsana to join him. Our first seva opportunity occurred immediately upon our arrival—a new year’s hug and card from him, costing $250.

  Now that I was here, I was determined to have a better experience than the first time. But when we got to his bedroom, he was yelling at three of his female preachers. I knew just enough Hindi by then to know that they were in trouble. He was saying basically, “Why haven’t you brought more people to see me?” They hung their heads and said nothing.

  He was still chastising them when it was my turn to receive a hug and a card. He put his arms around me for a few seconds, pulled away, and then handed me a large stiff envelope. The whole time he continued scolding the preachers. I tried to understand the lesson I believed I was supposed to gain from this experience—perhaps it was a sign that I, too, must try harder to do the right thing for my guru.

  Our next stop was to a room where his three daughters stayed. It was a boisterous party in there. People were hugging the “didis,” as they are called (didi means “sister” in Hindi, but is also a respectful way to address any female of higher ranking). And they were purchasing trinkets they were selling. His daughters had a parallel operation going in the ashram, and sold photos, as well as discarded saris, jewelry, and other gifts people had given them.

  After this, we proceeded to the temple, which was filled with people chanting. Before long Maharaji entered the hall and sat on his decorated seat at the front of the room. The chanting became more enthusiastic in his presence. I had trouble concentrating because I could smell the food for the feast being prepared by local food vendors outside, on the temple veranda, which encirculed the entire building.

  The feast began only after Maharaji circumnavigated the temple to examine and sample the offerings. Vendors from all over town were lined up, proudly serving their specialties. There was every kind of Indian food imaginable, as well as other cuisines. There was thick and rich pau bhaji, crispy dosas with spiced potato filling, barbequed paneer, tender rotis, Chinese noodles, homemade ice cream, succulent sweets of every variety, and much more. I paired off with another Austin devotee and walked round the circuit trying to decide what to eat. We knew better than to just eat anything and risk getting an intestinal illness. We finally chose a few delicacies and went to find a quiet place to savor them. The food was among the most delicious I had ever eaten in India.

  That evening we rode the bus in the dark back to the Barsana ashram. When we awoke the next day, Maharaji was in Barsana. Overnight, the ashram had turned from a ghost town into “Maharaji World.” But even though the atmosphere was charged by his mere presence and the intensity of life was kicked up several notches, the environment was still more relaxed than what I experienced on my first trip.

  The winter also helped my mood considerably. Even though we didn’t have heaters and had to heat our bath water in a bucket with an electric coil, it was much better than the constant sweating and heat rashes of the stifling summer weather. The food was much better too, likely because they were cooking for fewer people.

  Another plus was we got to enjoy a second feast, thanks to a wedding celebration held in the ashram. In fact, if it had not been for the wedding, the trip might have been a complete bust, because, almost as soon as he arrived, Maharaji was itching to leave Barsana and go to Orissa, a holy town on the Bay of Bengal. However, he felt obligated to stay for the wedding, because it was for the daughter of one of his oldest—and wealthiest—devotees.

  On the night of the wedding I had my best experience with Maharaji ever—and it didn’t cost me a dime. That evening, I had tired of the raucous festivities and was wandering around the empty prayer hall with one of the other visiting devotees. Suddenly, Maharaji walked in dressed in a turban and long flowing coat. He walked to his electric wheelchair, which he often used to get around quickly. We followed him as he rolled out of the building. Once outside, he hit
a button on the chair and sailed off into the night toward the back of the ashram. We followed him on foot, running to keep up.

  Soon, a few other devotees joined in. About eight of us ran beside or behind him, laughing as we chased our guru through the darkness. He drove the long way around the new temple, toward a boisterous group of wedding revelers who were singing, playing instruments, dancing, and setting off fireworks. Maharaji got up and dived into the middle of the melee. The people went crazy, dancing and kicking up the decibel level several notches. I hung back watching the scene. When he was done, he raced back. We ran after him again, laughing all the way. It was the most fun I’d ever had in India.

  The day after the wedding, early in the morning, we were told Maharaji was leaving in two hours. We stood outside his room waiting for our last glimpse of him. Some devotees were crying. Finally, he appeared. We followed him as he walked to his car, waved goodbye. Then he was gone. His entourage of servants and camp-following devotees crammed into other vehicles and took off after him.

  I walked back into the temple. It was so empty and quiet it felt like a tomb. I suddenly felt extremely lonely. There were four days left until we departed, and they passed like molasses through a sieve. Although this trip was not as miserable as my first, by the time I left India, I realized I’d had enough of the hyperactive Maharaji Show.

  I knew my second trip to India would be the last I’d ever make to the country.

  51

  Where is Sureshwari?

  A Preacher’s Mysterious Disappearance

  A MONTH AFTER I RETURNED from India in early 2004, Swamiji’s main preacher, Sureshwari, disappeared without a word.

  Her sudden departure was one of the most traumatic events in my spiritual life. A few other preachers had left Swamiji over the years for unknown reasons, but none of them had possessed Sureshwari’s intensity and sincerity. She was the most admired person in the organization during her twenty years as preacher, then vice president, and then president. She attracted many devotees to the path over the years, both in the U.S. and in India.

  Unlike most devotees, including the other preachers, she appeared to follow Swamiji’s instructions to the letter. For many of us, she was the ideal devotee. I admired her greatly, and am convinced I would not have lasted as long as I did were it not for her example and support.

  Swamiji himself always held her up as an example of the perfect devotee, and praised her publicly many times over the years. When he announced in the mid-90s that she was going to take over his role as president, he told us, “She has suffered more hardship than any other preacher. She loves all of the souls.”

  Sureshwari had met Swamiji in New Zealand in the mid-1970s when she was just nineteen. She was a pretty, spiritual, and energetic young woman, and Swamiji showered her with charismatic attention. She became his number one follower and secretary. He guided every step of her life from that point on, telling her where to live, when to do devotions, and instructing her to open a small flower and vegetable stand so she could make money to help support the small New Zealand center he had established.

  Shortly afterward, Swamiji told her it was her destiny to become a preacher. Sureshwari dived into her studies, learning the Hindu scriptures with total commitment. Swamiji sent her to India for several months to prepare for her new life as a Hindi-speaking, shloka-reciting (shlokas are scriptural passages), devotional-song-chanting Western woman dressed in orange.

  Then, without warning in February 2004, Sureshwari disappeared on the day we were celebrating Swamiji’s birthday. I noticed her absence during the annual celebration. When Swamiji entered the party, Prabhakari was right behind him with a big grin on her face. Sureshwari was nowhere in sight. Prabhakari looked particularly pleased with herself, and seating herself in front of Swamiji, she gazed up at him smiling from ear to ear. I thought she looked especially self-satisfied.

  As soon as the party was over, I asked around, but no one had seen Sureshwari. The next day I again inquired about her. No one knew anything, they claimed. The following day, in the dining hall, I walked up to Lois, a resident devotee who managed the prayer hall and prasad. She always seemed to know what was going on.

  “Where is Sureshwari?”

  She looked at me sheepishly and said, “You know, we have to put all of our faith and love in the guru, not in anyone else.”

  Her curious comment sent a chill down my spine.

  “I can’t tell you the details, but Sureshwari might have left.”

  I was stunned and scared, but Lois refused to divulge any specifics, saying she didn’t know anything else. I suspected she did.

  That evening I sat through Swamiji’s dinner, getting more and more distraught. After Swamiji left the sitting room, I went to the preacher Nikhileshwari’s room, because I figured she should know something.

  “I need to ask you something,” I said, my tone and demeanor edgy.

  She immediately closed her door and told me to sit on her bed. She sat down next to me staring with concern. “What’s wrong?”

  I opened my mouth to speak and burst out crying. The tears quickly escalated into heaving sobs.

  “What’s wrong? Did someone hurt you? Tell me what happened.”

  Still sobbing, I blurted out, “Where’s Sureshwari?”

  The question startled her. She took a deep breath and said, “She’s gone back to India for a while.”

  I looked at her curiously. This made no sense. Why wouldn’t they tell us this news? Why was Sureshwari’s departure such a mystery?

  Finally she explained further: “She has gone to India because she has been in a negative state of mind and Swamiji wants to try to revive her devotion.”

  She followed this perplexing news up with a curious story. “Maharaji has said while on the path, some devotees go almost all the way across the ocean of maya and reach so close to the divine shore that they believe they can walk the rest of the way by themselves. So they leave of the guru’s boat and drown immediately.”

  One of the frequent teachings of the gurus was that people were floating through the ocean of maya, adrift in their own little boats. Only a guru could steer a soul’s boat to the divine world. Clearly, Nikhileshwari was trying to imply that Sureshwari had gone adrift.

  In a few days, Nikhileshwari’s story began falling apart. Devotees started to talk about how Sureshwari had left Swamiji and gone back to New Zealand. Another devotee tried to assure me everything was fine. “She just needs a break. She’ll relax, walk on the beach, and return in a few months.”

  A week later Swamiji was preparing to return to India. The followers were called to his sitting room for a meeting and I thought he was going to give us some information about Sureshwari. Instead, he just talked about the usual things: how important it was to go to satsang regularly, to not think anything negative about anyone, and to perform service with complete devotion. Then he stood up and walked out. I was sitting behind Lois and I put my hand on her arm and whispered: “He didn’t say anything about her.”

  She looked at me with utmost compassion and said, “No he didn’t.”

  I burst into tears and fell into her arms. I cried for ten minutes. Now I knew for sure something was very wrong. I was in misery, and being in the dark made it worse. Moreover, I was scared.

  A few months later, I finally heard the details of Sureshwari’s departure when I went out to lunch with another follower named Heather, who lived in the ashram and was especially close to Vishi. Heather knew the whole story, because she had been pulled into the middle of the drama. That day, the preacher Diwakari noticed Sureshwari’s suitcase on the veranda by the front door. When she walked by again later the suitcase was gone. On a hunch, she went to Sureshwari’s room and found her belongings were all gone. She immediately told Swamiji.

  He called Heather at work and told her to get to the airport and find Sureshwari. Heather worked near the airport and had special security authorization because of her job. She raced to the airport a
nd searched the terminals. A Western woman dressed head to toe in bright orange is not difficult to find in any situation. Because the Austin airport is fairly small and has a simple floor plan, Heather spotted her quickly at one of the gates. When she caught up with the departing preacher, she said, “Swamiji wants to talk to you.”

  Sureshwari just said, “Leave me alone.”

  Heather called Swamiji on her cell phone and held it out to Sureshwari. “Please take the phone. Please talk to Swamiji.”

  According to Heather, Sureshwari got a crazed look in her eyes and walked away toward a coffee kiosk. When Heather followed her, Sureshwari turned to her and said, “Get away from me or I’ll tell airport security you’re bothering me.” Then she started walking toward a security officer.

  Heather left the airport rather than risk losing her security privileges and her job. That evening Heather endured a severe scolding from Swamiji, who screamed at her for not getting Sureshwari to do what he wanted. The experience traumatized Heather for several months. She was in tears as she recounted what happened. “I failed Swamiji. I wish it had been someone else instead of me. She might have listened to someone else. I felt so bad that I couldn’t do more.”

  Later I heard an addendum to the story. When Swamiji learned Sureshwari had left, he told someone to call the police to stop her from getting on the plane. When the police refused to intervene, Swamiji made an unusual comment: “Why won’t they stop her? She’s my property.”

  I later heard that both Maharaji and Swamiji called Sureshwari in New Zealand dozens of times, but she didn’t take their calls. A few months later, a surprising thing happened. Sureshwari sent a letter to Swamiji saying she had made a mistake and wanted to return. I was thrilled beyond belief. I think she wanted to come back to the U.S., but they sent her to India. But four months later she left again, this time for good.