by Om Swami
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.<
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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.
Fortunately, I always slept with a bottle of water next to me since the handpump was at a distance. I had been using the fields since I had arrived. Though there were toilets at the school, I wasn’t allowed to use them. The entrance door to the school was locked at night anyway. I ran to the fields. There were big holes in the ground that almost looked like snake pits.
After I was done, I woke up Pandey, who slept outside Shesh Muni's room, and he gave me the medication. It was a homeopathic remedy that had absolutely no impact on the pain and burning sensation. I don’t know if it had any effect on the venom.
I came back to sleep on the floor. By chance, I lifted the two books I used as a pillow, and saw a scorpion beneath. I didn’t know if it was the same one or another. Determined to not kill any creature, I used a piece of cloth to shoo it away. If I was destined to be stung by a scorpion, I could have killed a thousand and yet another one would have come to deliver the goods. I got the scorpion to move away and did all this quietly, so no one around me woke up. Anyhow, I didn’t die. You can die easily if a scorpion stings you in the vein. In my case, it was kind enough; it had only kissed my shoulder.
The next day, Baba asked me to stop sleeping on the floor. 'Take a couple of benches from the school and join them together. You can sleep on them,' he said. 'Ji, Baba,' I said. I was saved from the scorpions now but the mosquitoes continued to bite. I could have covered myself properly to save myself from them, but I wasn’t allowed to wear any clothes that were sewn; I had been permitted only unstitched robes. 'A true sanyasi's robes are not stitched,' Baba used to say. I was beginning to suspect that clothes, signs, symbols and even religion had absolutely nothing to do with enlightenment but, no matter what, I wasn’t going to cross my guru’s word.
My health and well-being, the environment and living conditions, being treated with respect and civility were not real concerns for me. My body was disturbed by them, but I knew I would train my body to adjust; my mind was far stronger, and my intent for being here was genuine. The reason I stayed was that Baba had taken me on as his disciple, and given me his word that he would teach me the secret rituals of Sri Vidya, the tantric worship of Mother Divine. He had assured me he would train me, and I had promised myself that no matter what test God put me through, I would not quit but wait for the appointed day. Without Baba’s guidance, my sadhana would not progress, and my desire to meet the Divine would not manifest. This was, of course, the reason why I had sought a guru in the first place.
There was another vital reason why I didn’t leave. I realized that everything I experienced here was a lesson for me. Life was teaching me every moment. One of the most important things I learnt at Baba’s ashram was the type of yogi I never wanted to be.
While I waited for my sadhana to start, people began to visit the ashram to meet me. After all, I was a sadhu who had done an MBA from Australia, and the news spread. Much of the time though, people only wanted to know how to get a visa to Australia. I wanted to completely do away with my social interactions but there was no way to avoid people. It was becoming increasingly clear to me that intense meditation was not a possibility here. In fact, let alone a spot for meditation, I had no place to even rest.
During the day, the sun spewed fire, and I would sit in the shade of that unlivable thatched hut. And I had the scorpions as companions. But, this time, I spoke to them and told them that I would do them no harm and they shouldn’t bother me either. Not once did a scorpion sting me in the hut. Sometimes, they would lose their grip on the roof and you would hear a thud as they landed on the ground, but they never breached the peace pact.
My day at the ashram started early. I used to get up at 4 a.m., take my bucket from my room and walk to the handpump. Since it was dark at that hour, I really had to be alert while walking. I had to pass through a narrow area dotted with shrubs on one side and trees on the other. During the night, the spiders would spin their webs between the trees and the shrubs. Unless you were careful, the gossamer web would cover your face. At the handpump, I’d have a bath, wash my robe and wear a fresh one. Using a flashlight and a small mirror, I’d apply the tilak to my forehead.
Next, I would sweep the premises as Baba would be up soon and I wanted him to have a clean environment. As I swept, I would chant the holy names of Mother Divine. Baba often had things he wanted done that day or at a later date, and I used to note down those instructions once my sweeping was done. My day was always packed. Working and teaching in the school, supervising and financing the construction of Baba’s cottage, temple and college along with promotional activities for the school took up almost all my time. One day, Baba suggested I could meditate at night and work during the day. He added that I could get some sleep once school got over for the day.
When Baba handed over all his projects to me, he had said, 'I'm counting on you to handle the day-to-day affairs because I can't control my rage.’ What amazed me was not that my guru was busy in trivial matters—he was doing much of this for the welfare of others—but that he was so angry and bitter most of the time. Had it been anyone else, I would not have been surprised at all, but Baba of all people? After all, he was
not an ordinary practitioner. For much of his life, he had practised extreme austerities. He was a Naga saint and a long-standing Sri Vidya upasak, worshipper of Mother Divine in the form of Goddess Tripura Sundari. For twelve years, he had lived with an adept called Harinam Das Aghori in a cremation ground in Varanasi, performing various rituals under the supervision of his master. He had done numerous tantric sadhanas there, in the forests, in remote temples and in complete seclusion. In fact, Baba had done numerous sadhanas across the five schools of tantra.
These are different paths available to any seeker who wishes to use tantra as a rapid path to self-realization: dakshinachara, the right-handed path; vamachara, the left-handed path; kaulachara, a school introduced by the Saivites of Kashmir, which emphasizes the Siva–Sakti union; samayachara, where the primordial energy of Mother Divine is worshipped within the body, above the navel and descending into the lower chakras, and forbids sexual union with a female consort; and mishrachara, a system that allows mixed practices depending on the state and stage of the seeker.
Vamachara and kaulachara almost always involve rituals and sexual union with a consort of the opposite sex. Dakshinichara and samayachara, on the other hand, emphasize complete abstinence, whereas mishrachara permits it at the discretion of the guru. The five paths of tantra originate from the Atharva Veda, the fourth Veda.
Baba also spent nearly two decades in Vrindavan, worshipping Krishna in the tantric way. The Vedic way considers Krishna as the paramatma, Supreme Soul, and human being as jivatma, embodied soul and, as such, is concerned with the external worship of Krishna in the form of chanting his name, singing his glories, adorning his form and reciting the Bhagavadagita. The Vedic path says the devotee merges in Krishna after death.
