AUTOBIOGRAPHY

of an
AVADHOOTA
Part II

Author
Avadhoota Nadananda
 ©Avadhoota Nadananda, 2016
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by
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permission of the author

1st completely new edition published by Gurulight 2016

Book and Cover design:
Zoran Stefanovski (Mohana Hanumatananda)
www.gurulight.com
ISBN 9788193309131
Bhagavan Sri Dattatreya
Paramaguru Nityananda Bhagavan
Sadhguru Avadhoota Tara Mayee
Avadhoota Nadananda
e Path of orns
Gratitude of Earth to e Glorious Feet
Alphabet to Awareness
 From my Heart with Gratitude

L
   past, I cannot begin to imagine the amount of grace
that has owed between my rst meeting with Avadhoota 1
Nadananda in mid December 2015 and this day in mid November
2016 as I am writing this article for the second volume of Autobiography of
an Avadhoota. Gratitude overwhelms my being. How powerful is our
tradition! How unfathomable is the love of the masters of Gyanganj 2 ! How
they orchestrated the process of making a raw piece of rock into a
substantial idol! How amazing are the invisible hands of the divine mother
who nurtures, protects and guides unseen in the most unexpected ways! It
is just awe! Sheer Awe! It is only awe. e creation, the consciousness, the
Guru Mandala 3 , the family-ship and above all the law of karma! How can
we ever stop admiring the creation in its full glory!
When the task of writing this article fell on my lap, I spontaneously
revisited the days past. I had written two major blogs about my experiences
with Avadhoota Nadananda which can be read from
pkmohan.wordpress.com. Enchanting remembrances of the things past! I
shall not drag your attention to unnecessary details. My memories are not
scattered. Yet, I shall write this as it ows, allowing the divine to handle my
brain, hands and the ow. Mohanji does not write this. Mohanji does not
exist here and hence sequentially it ows . . .
Invitation for breakfast at Sri. Nagarajan’s house in Banaras in 2015
January. His gi of Avadhoota Nadananda’s autographed book. My
becoming enchanted by his picture and asking Sri. Nagarajan for his contact
details. Trying to reach him in vain numerous times not knowing why Sri.
Nagarajan helped again to reach Avadhoota Nadananda. First meeting at
Dhar in Madhya Pradesh a day before Datta Jayanthi (Birthday of Lord
Dattatreya) in mid December 2015. His question “Why have you come to
see me? What do you want from me?” I replied “Nothing”. I felt like seeing
you. A deep urge without any apparent reason! My heart is already lled.”
He replies “Mother will tell me the purpose of your visit in due course”. He
asks us to stay for another day and participate in Datta Jayanthi
celebrations. On Datta Jayanthi day, by mid-day, as the celebrations were
taking place, he suddenly comes out of his room, declares his intention to
honour me despite my best efforts to avoid any such things, as I was quite
satis ed with his love, kindness and over all his darshan (sight). He insists,
decorates me with a shawl and a Shree Yantra. Months later he writes in a
communication to his devotees that while he was sitting in his room, he
heard the voice of Mahatapa Babaji, of Gyanganj asking him to “take care
of Mohanji”. Aer that visit, we became closer by phone and we spoke
frequently. I was not aware of his communications with the masters of
Gyanganj and their guidance and plans. Guruji asks me to celebrate my
Indian calendar birthday in Dhar. I agreed. I told him that there should
not be any celebration; instead I would be more than happy to spend some
time near him. Just some quiet time. Birthday fell on March 2nd 2016 and
he had organized annadaan (Serving food) as well as music as well as
celebrations. He told me “there is a reason for this celebration of your
birthday. You will know later.” e same day, he initiated me in Sri Vidya. I
had lunch with many children. Something big had taken place on my
birthday without me being aware of it. Avadhoota Nadananda later told
that the initiation was as per the instruction of Guru Mandala. He told that
14 years he has been waiting for a worthy successor who he could adopt
and hand over the wealth of his saadhana (spiritual practices; in this
context, the bank balance of years of spiritual practices). e debt to one’s
guru will be complete only when one nds a worthy successor and hands
over his acquired spiritual wealth, he mentioned. For fourteen years he has
been suffering from cancer and had decided to put a full stop to his journey
of this existence and many times it became a comma or semi-colon! He had
lost hope of nding a successor. A day before Datta Jayanthi, the Guru
Mandala brought me to him. He was told “we sent Mohanji to you” and
guided him as to what to do next. Everything was owing as per their plan
and in a way, we both were just instruments or in other words, projection
of their world which is ours too. We did not have extensive
communications on spiritual matters except that of the world wide release
of his Autobiography and the service projects that Ammucare and Manav
Seva Samithi could work together on. I attended the inauguration function
of the seva that Guruji and team does every year at a place near Kurnool.
at was a grand function where they heal the pilgrims, with a special oil
which Guruji himself prepares, who walk many miles to Sri Sailam for
Ugadi. Numerous volunteers did service day and night. I was privileged to
inaugurate this function along with other dignitaries. is was in March
2016.

Shirdi and entry to Gyanganj

We met at Shirdi in June 2016 to inaugurate the restaurants Madhuban
and Ahimsa Vegan. A few days before we met at Shirdi, he called me and
said “I need some time with you alone when we meet at Shirdi. Something
important needs to be done. Can we go for a walk in the streets of Shirdi—
just you and me?” I said “Sure Gurudev.” We walked in the streets of Shirdi.
He said “we shall not go into the Samadhi mandir weathering the rush of
people. ose who want to see us will meet us outside.” While walking
towards the Shani temple, he stopped. He pointed towards a lean saint with
his matted hair rolled conically over his head and exclaimed “Here he is!
He is the one we have to meet today.” He took out Rs. 100/- from the cloth
that he was wearing, gave it in my hands and said “go to him and give this
to him”. I walked towards the saint with matted hair and offered him the
money. He accepted. I remember brie y touching his hair. en we walked
away. Later, Guruji said “at was Bhruguram Paramahamsa, the saint who
took me to Gyanganj. He is the guru of Bhagawan Nithyananda. My
mission was to connect you to Gyanganj directly. When you gave dakshina
to the master from Gyanganj, that connection is established. My job is over.
ey have taken over. You belong to Gyanganj now.” He also told that
Shirdi Sai Baba was the 37th Pontiff of Gyanganj and Avadhoota
Nadananda the 48th . Everything was so unbelievable to me just like a fairy
tale. I accepted with utmost surrender all what I heard and all what I was
asked to perform. Avadhoota Nadananda was in one word INNOCENCE
and nothing else. He walked the earth like an innocent child. He went
about performing his entrusted tasks without asking “WHY”, and thus
served the world and Gyanganj totally and unsel shly. He is a master
beyond comparisons. I knew I was in safe hands. I have come home at last.
Even though a couple of times I questioned my eligibility for this honour, I
quickly realised my lack of eligibility to assess my eligibility and the wisdom
to leave it to wiser and better hands such as that of these great masters. e
best medicine for ignorance is surrender into the safe hands of great guides,
just like the logical remedy for darkness is some light.

The Celestial Kappar (Begging Bowl)

Guruji keeps the celestial Kappar that Mahatapa Babaji of Gyanganj used
and handed down through the tradition of masters into the hands of
Avadhoota Nadananda by his Guru Avadhoota Tara Mayee. If I am right,
this Kappar was used by 7 great masters of Gyanganj from Mahatapa Babaji
including Bhagawan Nithyananda. He has kept it sacred, away from the
eyes and touches of curious seekers. One time when I visited Kurnool, I
expressed my desire to see the celestial bowl. He obliged. He handed it over
to me and it was indeed a divine experience to hold the celestial kappar
that great masters carried in their hands for centuries. I touched my third
eye with it and handed it back to Guruji. He wrapped and kept it safe. On
October 10th , he took the divine kappar again and allowed my mother to
hold it. Later, my mother and I were allowed to give him bhiksha (ritualistic
alms that is offered to renunciates) in the celestial kappar while we were at
Kurnool. is was an unbelievable blessing for both me and my mother.
Guruji receives every type of food in the same bowl and he will mix
everything together, adding some water to it, as Sai Baba used to do.
Whatever food he gets in the bowl will all be mixed up and meshed
together in a pulp form and he eats them with detachment. All avours are
mixed together. I had a desire to receive some food from that kappar which
would mean as a great “Prasad” (Celestial offering/gi). Guruji read my
mind and while he was having food, he gave me a handful of food from
the bowl. Devi, my wife was also sitting with me. He gave her some food as
well. us, he ful lled a great wish of mine to eat out of the celestial bowl
of Babaji. Food from that bowl is celestial nectar. He does not use the
kappar every day. He keeps it safe and away as it is far too sacred for him
than anything else.

Back to the fast track

ings have started to shi rapidly. Mohanji has started dissolving. Guruji
visited Mookambika to relive his time spent with his Guru Maa Tara
Mayee. On Guru Poornima, while I was in London, Guruji was in
Mookambika. Bhruguram Paramahamsa appeared in the early hours and
informed him the permission of Gyanganj to “step down”. Guruji was asked
to transfer his powers and spiritual bank balance to me, anoint me as his
successor and declare it to the world. Even though all these are
predominantly of spiritual signi cance and should be performed in silence
and solitude, Guruji decided on a grand program. e Guru Mandala also
asked Guruji to confer the title of “Brahmarishi” to me. Mind you, I never
asked anything from Guruji or any masters till date. I realised that
whatever comes to us without asking, amounts to sheer eligibility and
grace. Guruji wanted to see me urgently. As soon as I returned from
London, I came to Bangalore to meet Guruji. He was like a wonderful
father waiting for his dear son. He personally went and bought vegetables,
made curries and fed me. I experienced unfathomable love! He kept
repeating “My Mohanji has come back to me. I will give you everything I
have. You need not walk anymore. I walk towards you, for you.” Later I
wrote a blog about this as per his instruction and guidance.
e date was xed for 2016 December 14—Datta Jayanthi which would
also become the rst anniversary of our meeting on earth. But, as per the
instruction of Guru Mandala, it was later changed to 2016 October 10th ,
the day of Vijaya Dasami and also the day of Maha Samadhi of Shirdi Sai
Baba 4 . All the arrangements were made by Guruji himself. He supervised
everything, went into micro details in planning and ensured no stones were
unturned. ere were three programs put into one. My title ceremony of
Brahmarishi, e transfer of spiritual powers, and the release of books,
including Autobiography international edition volume one in English and
its Malayalam translation. Some people tried their best to disrupt this
program, as we expected, considering the divine nature of the grand
function. But, as Guruji stated, “this is neither my decision nor yours. What
the Guru Mandala planned will also be executed by them. Terrestrial
beings can do nothing”. Everything went picture perfect. It was the most
enchanting program that I have ever witnessed and participated in my life!
Guruji transferred his spiritual bank balance to me and declared “I am
bankrupt now. Mohanji will take the light forward, guided by the
Gyanganj. He compared this transfer to that of Sri Ramakrishna
Paramahamsa 5 to Vivekananda as well as Sri Yukteswar Giri to
Paramahamsa Yogananda 6 .” October 10th evaporated like a dream. In the
early hours, Guruji performed a re ceremony with only camphor and no
wood. It was just me and him assisted by Sujatha Gaaru. He transferred his
powers to me through that ceremony. e re which was towards him
turned towards me as soon as his transfer was complete. He gave me a
ower in hand asked me to take a circle of the re and offer the ower into
the re and walk away. In the aernoon, at the public function, he issued a
certi cate conferring me with the title of Brahmarishi 7 . Even the design of
the certi cate was supervised by Guruji himself. When I arrived he jokingly
said “I have prepared a certi cate for you, but will not show you until at
the function.” When I asked him the relevance of a terrestrial certi cate for
a celestial ceremony, he said “to make this title authentic and for the sake
of sceptical people who may say against it or even say that it never
happened.”He also released all the books on stage through different people
who he handpicked from the audience. Later, when he le the stage,
people cried. He came back and danced with the audience. He created
such a euphoria which will be remembered by many through time. at
event was incomparable.
Today, I stand here, looking back in wonder. It is not even one year since
I rst met Guruji. How many events transpired until now! My whole status
changed. His status also changed. What a grand collaboration! One person
asked me “are you aware of the responsibilities that you have taken over?” I
said “I do not need to know that. ose who entrusted the responsibilities
to me will ensure its smooth completion as well. ey are powerful. ey
are focused. ey will take me through and make me do it well.” is is the
truth. I am just an instrument. None of the thoughts, words or actions is
mine anymore. ere is no mind anymore. Guruji keeps saying, I am your
elder brother, not your guru. But, I see him as my preceptor, guide, and
above everything—as myself. His love is beyond comparisons. He said “I
am where you are. I shall be with you always.” He means it and he proves
it. I have no doubt or worry whether he would be with me in times of
crisis. I am sure that he will not allow anymore crisis in life. It will be a
smooth ow as the life will only be for the bene t of the universe.
I write this with deep surrender to the masters who guide me, to
Avadhoota Nadananda and the eternal Guru Parampara 8 . I do not exist.
Only they exist. May the right words and the right deeds happen through
this existence and may I remain faithful and useful to the universe.

With immense love and gratitude to all those who are reading this,
Brahmarishi Mohanji

1 Avadhoota’ is a Sanskrit term referring to a particular type of mystic or saint who is beyond egoic-
consciousness, duality and common worldly concerns and acts without consideration for standard
social etiquette. He/she is a spiritual guide to many souls and enlightens the path of those on a
psychic journey.
2 Gyanganj is the legendary city-kingdom of mysterious immortal beings, from ancient Indian and
Tibetan mythology. It is said to be inhabited by yogis and saints of high order, and is also a place of
spiritual training. Situated in a valley somewhere deep in the Himalayas, and though hidden from
the world, still in uencing it in various subtle ways when necessary. It is said that Gyanganj is
cunningly camou aged or may even be existing in a completely different plane of reality.
3 Guru Mandala is the fraternity of sages, rishis and gurus who had themselves acquired a very high
position in the hierarchy of spiritual evolution. All these sages were an ‘Awakened’ lot and formed a
spiritual league to help humanity enjoy the divine bliss which they had themselves experienced.
4 Sai Baba of Shirdi was an Indian spiritual master, who lived in Shirdi, Maharashtra, India for many
years. He attained Samadhi on Vijaya Dasami the 10th day at the conclusion of the nine days
auspicious celebration of Mother Divine, Shakti, celebrated during September or October, as the
day may fall per the Vedic calendar.
5 Sri Ramakrishna Paramahamsa, an Indian spiritual master and mystic who lived during 1836-1886.
His disciple was Swami Vivekananda who is known world over and was a key gure in the
introduction of the Indian philosophies of Vedanta to the Western world.
6 Sri Yukteswar Giri, a kriya yogi, a Vedic astrologer, a scholar of the Bhagavat Gita and the Bible, an
educator and an astronomer was the guru of Paramahamsa Yogananda. Paramahamsa Yogananda
was an Indian yogi and guru who introduced millions of westerners to the teachings of mediation
and kriya yoga, and became a world renowned gure through his book, Autobiography of a Yogi .
7 In Hinduism, a Brahmarishi is a member of the highest class of seers or sages—a highly evolved
soul who has attained the realization of the Brahman or absolute reality.
8 Guru Parampara—e spiritual tradition or lineage of Gurus or Spiritual Masters
 Abhayanadam

H
, I  started writing the second part of my
‘Autobiography of an Avadhoota .’ Since completing the rst part,
the response from people, my disciples, devotees and even some
unknown people, has been encouraging. Even if a single person gets
inspired and changes his attitude towards life, I will consider myself to be a
successful writer. I have tried to put the experiences I had during my
childhood and in long life as a guru, sanyasi, avadhoota and a social
worker. Life long I have tried to live for the betterment of others. I have
been a lonely traveler from my birth, and even now, I move alone in the
crowd of my disciples, devotees and well wishers. In my long journey, I
have encountered people from all walks of life, few to remember, few to
forget. Some people helped me, some harassed, some criticized and some
just moved along side me as a witness to my pain and pleasures.
When I thought of writing this part of my autobiography, the rst face
that appeared in front of me was my beloved Guruji, ‘Avadhoota Tara
Mayee ,’ who is everything to me and every moment with me—rather in
me. A black and rough stone in her hand, she made it a smooth and
beautiful sculpture. Because of Amma’s ability of transforming mud to gold,
few kept that idol, in the altar of their heart and worshipped as Guru. at
is me and my story.
It is my privilege to mention at least one person, who has understood me
and travelled physically, mentally, and emotionally with me for more than
thirty years sharing my unconcealed pleasures and pains, my spiritual
brother Swami Abhayanand Saraswathi. Without his loving help, writing,
correcting, editing of work, could never have been possible as I was strictly
instructed by my doctors for bed rest aer my third cardiac attack. Even
though he stayed in Gujarat or Uttarakhand or Bengal, we communicated
daily by mail or phone to edit and nalize this work. As he is a part and
parcel of my life, I will never say thanks to him, as nobody says thanks to
his own head for a good or positive thought. In fact he deserves the credit
for the book in this shape, as for correcting my mistakes in spelling,
grammar, idioms, reshaping of paragraphs, deleting and adding few lines as
per his likes. He has that much freedom with me to correct my words, even
me.
Few words on my disciples who served me whole heartedly during
serious illness. ey pressed me again and again to complete the writing
works so soon, as my memory fades due to long medication. ey not only
served food, shelter, cloth at my convenience, but took care of my
medicines in time even when I was deeply immersed in writing works. Of
course, with my permission, they even blocked all roads of other disciples,
not to reach me physically or even on cell phone avoiding visitors and
discussing them on the importance of the work I do, and to keep me stress
and strain free, enabling me to write this autobiography in its full value.
I tried to pen down my experiences and emotions in its true spirit and
value. Let time, decide the value of the words of an Avadhoota in front of
you.
 Contents

From my Heart with Gratitude

Abhayanadam

1. Advent Of An Avadhoota
2. Seeds Of Divine Love
3. e Belt And Beat
4. A Kiss And Blackmail
5. e Money Lender Child
6. e Yellow Shorts And e Mystic Hug
7. A Few Scattered Memories
8. Impulsive Genius Of A Humble Caretaker
9. Oh! You Are at Boy
10. e Inexplicable Days
11. Death Of An Artist
12. To Know Is To Be
13. e Use And row Guruji
14. Where You Are, ere I Am
15. Another Purascharan At Narmada
16. Beginning Itself Is Ending
17. Again At Narmada
18. In Search Of Unknown
19. Liberation Of A Soul
20. From Here To ere And Back
21. Again At My Father’s Abode
22. e Must Forget Faces
 23. e Parasite Guruji
24. Bhagavadajjuka —e story of a prostitute and a Sanyasi
25. Experience Oneness
26. Mud On My Face
27. Oneness As Fire And Heat
28. Anantham, Atmabandham
29. Being In Awareness
30. Beware, ey Are Watching
31. A Bittersweet Experience
32. A Dream Comes True
33. A Joke Of Six Lakhs
34. A Runa Paid Off
35. Activated Inabilities
36. Hungry For Affection
37. Curry Leaf Inspirations
38. Faceless Crowd Aimless Mob
39. Forget It—It Is Your Mistake
40. Pouring Milk Onto A Neem Tree
41. Put Small Fish, Catch Big One
42. e Return Journey
43. ree Stories To Remember
44. An Emotional Sunset
45. Butter y—A Messenger
46. e Hamsa Gaanam
47. Break Not e Mirror If y Face Is Ugly
48. Vyavahara
49. Be ere Where You Are
50. To You, For e Motivating Assurances
51. e Waiting
52. Meeting Mohanji

Parting oughts
Sparks Of Oblivion
Glossary
 Advent Of An Avadhoota

S
 H  my co-born, my sibling; waiting outside when I was
born. My mother once told me that I looked like a stillborn baby. A
fat body, blue in hue. And to everyone’s consternation, I was born
mute, taking more than the usual time to learn or understand, seemingly
lacking in intellectual faculties. e newborn boy they said, did not cry—
the rst ritual a human being has to do when he enters this world. ough
I didn’t weep, everybody else did, and my parents particularly. e infant
was motionless, cool, glossy blue in color and almost corpse-like. e only
sign of life was just a hint of a sparkle in the eyes. All the indications were
that of an Avadhoota , one who may be dead to the world, but really the
one who ‘lives’ in the true, ultimate sense. Everybody tried to make me
respond to some stimuli from outside, but failed to elicit the ritualistic cry
or wail of the infant. When such odd characteristics manifest in isolated
cases, people instead of leaving it to its natural course, in their impatience
plant undetectable samskaras in the child’s physique that may even prove to
be fatal to the child concerned. e situation has not improved even in
these days of modern education, with advanced techniques of delivery etc.,
we still remain under the in uence of arbitrary practices. When
Avadhoota-like beings manifest—the samsaric people see them as ordinary
beings. But not as variations in the manifestations of Almighty Nature.
Seeing the infant not responding to the outer stimuli, the village midwife
overcon dent in her knowledge, gave it a slap. When there was no
response even to this, she followed with a pinch to the so, tender skin and
yet another slap. He responded now, but with a laugh of sarcasm and
opened his sparkling twinkly eyes to look at the midwife, or rather at
‘samsara .’
So from day one, I was already starting to get punished for others’
ignorance of their own deeds. at was the rst slap I ever received in my
life. And the slaps continue to this day with me, even now, getting blessed
by slaps from ignorant, insigni cant, and immature disciples and devotees,
through their words and deeds. But now I never weep, as the tears too
have dried up.
I have struggled my whole life—for others of course, and never for
myself. Because I live for others, and for them only—though I never speak
yet sounds haunt me, though I never walk yet I fall down, and though I
never die yet I am reborn every moment. e action of inaction-ness is my
nature, but not the directionless-ness as seen so commonly among those
born with silver spoons. Silence is my language, deeds are my words,
experiences are my sentences, and being is my living—that is my song, and
the rhythm of my life. To live, be alive, always for others, and only for
others. If I serve, I breathe, and if I do not serve, I die.
Struggle has become my companion at every step of life. When I look
back into the lovely lanes of my past in retrospection, I see myself as a
sadhaka , as a sanyasi , or as a guru— yet I am none of those, but am the
yearning of the all-pervading Spirit itself that wants to confer the best of its
creation to its children. But the child, alas! It runs behind the ice cream-
seller. e foolish world cries out for love in search of love everywhere, but
none hears the voice of the spirit calling out loud, running through the
streets with his bosom wide open, to give that love. Because the de nition
of love of the spirit is entirely different from the way the world de nes love.
e world wants to get love but upon its conditions only, and that is not
possible for the spirit to offer—since who possesses the bottomless vessel
necessary to hold that water, which that love will require?
e base required to hold the water of Divinity is just sacri ce. Every
moment must become one of saadhana , the Saadhana of Service. Every
step must become a dance, like the tandava dance of Shiva, of destruction
for a new construction. Every sound must become a song, a poem, the Song
of Silence. Even every glance or look must become one of affection,
affection towards Nature, the Mother Goddess. Every thought has to
become like a ‘shastra ,’ the science of existence, or the existence of self.
 Seeds Of Divine Love

I
   the expectation of a remarkable change or transformation
to happen in anyone’s life, for it to manifest, there must exist some
unknown inspiration behind bringing up the latent karma inside. If
the sown-in seeds of spirituality are unable to sprout in spite of birth and
life in a spiritual background, it means that the seeds were sprinkled in
barren land in hostile conditions. When I look back in memory lane, about
how I was brought up and shaped as a human, the person who identi ed
and nurtured the dormant divinity and spiritual potential within me was
the grand old lady of my family, the younger sister of my grandmother,
known as ‘kunjechi ’, to whom I shall be ever grateful. She was responsible
for sowing within me the seeds of divinity, the love for knowledge, and
nurturing in me the faculties of grasping and understanding in childhood
itself. She was about seventy years old when I was a young lad. ough I
was born and brought up in a religious, orthodox environment and though
I did not dedicate myself to it, I developed into a banyan tree of divine
bhakti towards the Almighty. I am sure that had she not ever narrated
stories of Prahlada, Dhruva or of Rama 1 and his brothers, I would have
never become an ascetic. She would discourse to me, repeatedly again and
again at my request, the stories of Veer Hanuman that captivated my heart,
and which I memorized from repetition. I loved that ‘muthassi ,’ the
grandma very much, except for her dress code. In those days no stitched
upper garments were allowed to be used by a widow, and hence a ‘dhavani
’ was to be used as upper garment by ladies. With every breath she would
hum the mantra ‘rama narayana, rama narayana’ with mesmerizing
emotion and intensity.
 e pond or tank attached to the cluster of buildings in our ancestral
home, was the common but private to the cluster, bathing facility for all
concerned, where we all mostly bathed in. It always remained lled with
water to the brimful, and the steps that led down to it were slippery. e
discarded oil and soap gathered together to give out an odor, which I never
liked in my childhood. Once grandmother went to have her bath and when
she had not returned aer a long time, everybody grew worried and started
making enquiries and searching for her. But to the relief of all, she returned
to appear in front of the courtyard shivering in wet clothes, but still
chanting in her characteristically charming way. My concerned mother
asked why she had been so late in returning. Grandma said with a smile
that she had slipped, and fallen down into the pond. Since there was no
chance of survival if one fell into that pond since it was so deep, my mother
asked again, “Kunjechi , how then did you come out of the water?”
Grandma said, “Narayanan pulled me out from the pond.” Hearing this,
everyone standing there laughed at her, even mockingly. One of them was
even shameless to the extent of saying, “If Narayanan touched you then
you should do punyaham (puri catory rites) before entering inside the
house.” is was because the name of the servant at home was also
incidentally Narayanan. With a smile, grandmother replied, “Ninte
Narayanan alla, ente Narayanan aa enne rakshichathu. ” (It was not your
Narayanan, the servant, but my Narayanan—the Lord, who saved me).
at incident had a major impact on me, and le in my heart an everlasting
imprint as an example of staunch faith in what we believe and do. Actually,
it was an eye-opener for me. us early in childhood itself, the seed of
staunch belief in the existence of divinity with all its glory began sprouting
in me.
In those days, the bark of a certain tree was used for soap, and the paste
of ‘chemparathi’ (hibiscus) was used for washing hair. One day, my uncle
who worked in the military, brought home from the town, a bathing soap
with a wonderful fragrance. I was very fascinated by it but even aer
repeated requests, it never came to my hand for use. I was not able to use it
even once and was a bit frustrated. e old grandmother Kunjechi placed 4
annas in Kochu Narayanan’s hand and asked him to get a soap with good
fragrance. On his return from the town, he brought a good soap of my
choice and I was very happy. Without anyone objecting, I went with my
eldest sister to the pond for a royal bath, as soap was a great luxury for
children. Grandmother was also bathing there at that time. While applying
the soap to my body I felt as if I were in high heavens. I handed over the
soap to grandmother but she refused to use it saying that it was made of
‘apavitra ’ (impure) things. I felt sad at the thought that I had made a scene
in the family for that ‘apavitra ’ soap. Grandmother enlightened me saying,
“Never allow a fascination to grow in your mind for such things not meant
for you. You are like Ravana who had a fascination for Sita which turned
into an infatuation, and as a consequence he got himself killed by Rama .”
at made me feel bad and I threw away the soap in the water, because it
was due to that object that my loving ‘muthassi’ had called me Ravana . In
fact, I had really wanted to be like Hanuman , and now I was being called
Ravana . is was the rst lesson I had from her on ‘aparigraha .’ She
taught me so much through her example.
Upon the sole power (I came to realize later in my life this as spiritual) of
continuous japa of ‘rama narayana ’ brought her ‘anayasa maranam ’—a
death without pain. I observed that she possessed nothing of her own, but
lived life happily till her last breath. I am obliged to her a lot for the
teachings and stories which helped me understand and shape life in whole,
and when those seeds grew to a big tree, an ascetic was born. Even now as I
share those old stories with others, I feel the importance of grandparents in
a child’s life. ough at that time I was a child and unable to appreciate the
greatness of the effortless teachings of that old lady, later aer becoming a
sadhu and gaining an understanding of the elements of life, and becoming
guide and guru to someone, I certainly did realize the power of the simple
‘sanskaras ’ that she had conferred upon me.
A young man and woman may wed and beget a child together, but it is
merely a mass of esh. It is the grandparents who with the wealth of
valuable experience gained from their long span of life that can transform it
into a human being. Today the meaning and relevance of grandparents and
parents in life has deteriorated so much that when a young man gets
married, he immediately starts thinking that their responsibility is now
over, that they have no more use, relevance, or right to live, and so they
should think of dying, or must vacate the house, or go to an ashram. But
when I recall the contribution of this old lady to my life, my heart weeps
out in agony for the present day generation. Actually due to too much of
exposure to consumerism, they have forgotten to take a few lessons in love.
Love, respect and regard for our grandparents is actually our own self-
respect. If you do not respect them, it amounts to saying that you too are a
product of those valueless human beings; that you too are undeserving of
any respect. So grandparents mean not just a lot, but everything to us.
Hopefully, the younger generation will realize the ‘ultimate reality’ one day
too, from the morals of the stories told to them, and from the values
instilled in them by those old grandparents. ose will never go out of
context, as the children of today seem to imagine about their grandparents.
If the basic building blocks of these children, or the foundation provided by
their grandparents, are weak, one cannot expect any epic out of their lives.
Of course one may live a life of a rich slave with millions in the bank, but
be a mean beggar at heart. It is the values of regarding, respecting, and
loving one’s family elders that are the real rejuvenating factors in life. If
they are weak and there is short supply of love, the life that follows will be
an undesirable one. So I dedicate these words of mine to the names of all
those unassuming grandparents who gave us great saints, scholars,
devotees, leaders, philanthropists, or any great human being, out of their
experience.

1 e Ramayana is an ancient Indian epic poem which narrates the struggle of the divine prince Rama
to rescue his wife Sita from the demon king Ravana. Rama’s closest aide or disciple was Hanuman.
ere are several short stories contained in this epic which is normally taught or told to children in
households by their parents or grandparents.
 The Belt And Beat

A    thought of as innocence personi ed. His naiveté should

never be mistaken for mental de ciency, and this is true whatever creed,
breed, or country the child belongs to. Children represent the purity of the
soul itself. A child is imparted education by the world and starts gaining the
so-called empirical knowledge, of knowing how others may behave, how to
retaliate, and how to make itself ‘intelligent’. e meaning and purpose
beneath such education is to learn how to differentiate, but not how to
integrate. In spite of towering scienti c attainment, the man of today is not
ready to spare even a little time to understand the mindset of a child,
which is created quite differently than the careless understandings of the so
called matured man. e result is seen amply on the streets. e highly
tantalizing things created to attract innocent children show what kind of
ideas we have about a child. e mesmerizing, instigating, and mind-
diverting toys, clothes, art-objects, and entertainment, all demonstrate how
the world wants a child to develop—into a good consumer, but not
necessarily a good human being. e innocent child as he is naturally very
friendly to others, will give even his dearest things to his friends, for which
he may suffer at the hands of his elders. It may be that the elders are not in
a position to understand the mind of a child. Certainly the ways of
education, medicines, kinds of toys, food articles, and the upbringing of a
child are indicative of how mean humans become at adulthood, to exploit
their own children, the future of the world, with all adulterated and
cunningly poisoned articles.
I remember an incident from my life, where I was rewarded with agony,
for manifesting a natural expression of love in reciprocation of an act of
innocent friendship. I remember it was during my high school days, living
amongst my Nambudiri clan famous for its naiveté, which the whole village
took advantage of. And for that, they were stamped as simpletons. I was
never interested in learning this art of dividing the heart on imaginary
grounds. I rather deem anyone who teaches their children this art, as the
real enemy of humanity. I cherish and appreciate such an act of a child
giving any such thing away to a poor classmate or urchin or to anybody,
anything of its choice. e parent should feel proud of that child because
giving a thing that we possess if others need it, shows real humanity. at
tendency owers in us only due to God’s grace. People who do not have the
grace of God only want to keep everything for themselves. People blessed
with that grace feel bliss in giving, and this joy in giving is a sure indication
of whether we have God’s grace. Especially in Kaliyuga the easiest way to
get close to God is to give . . . give . . . give.
Since I was not made that way, I was the last one to understand such
mean-natured people. At that time, I had just been brought back to my
native village home from the strict and rigorous life at my sympathetic
uncle’s place far away from my parents, and the reunion at this time when I
was longing for parental affection, was surprisingly happy. I felt a little
distant initially due to the pangs of the separation from my parents, my
mind in a little aversion since they kept me away for a long period of ve
years from my village home. My rapport or tuning in heart was far deeper
with my elder sister than with others. I was enrolled in a school in the
nearby town to pursue my matriculation. I had to walk a distance of four
miles every morning along with my sister who was also pursuing her
education in that same town. As time passed, I slowly developed
friendships with a few in my class. Even though I was a stout boy, I was of
sturdy build. So I was admitted as a cadet in the National Cadet Corps
(NCC), which ful lled the need of channelizing my physical energy with
time to play as well as to instill self-discipline, which my military uncle very
much appreciated due to his military affinity. He would therefore gleefully
provide me with the articles needed for the NCC cadet uniform etc., even
without my asking. He expected and encouraged me also to excel in it so
that I could be pushed into the armed forces later if needed. But the tragic
point which disturbed me was that this uncle also started staying with us in
our old house, since he was single and alone with no one to take care of or
to rear. e problem was that he got involved in each and every aspect of
the house. As I stayed with him for a long period of ve years, even
without my knowledge a slave-like mentality developed in me, and a fear
and loathing for his approach to life which was lled with meaningless
rigor. My sister however was shrewd to escape him, and sometimes showed
the courage to revolt against him. By that time the nancial condition of
the house had also improved and the uncle also contributed nancially
now and then for the household needs. So it was quite natural to accept his
‘military rule’ at our home.
I had a classmate, Mathew, in tenth grade, a village boy like me, who also
walked daily to school from his village ve or six miles away. We were good
friends, who sat on the same bench, and ate together the lunches we had
brought, sitting on the steps of the river owing in front of the school. We
oen shared the curries we brought (of course he was a non-vegetarian,
and I once shared a sh curry from his lunch box), and played together.
We studied and did homework assignments together, and so you could say
we were intimate to each other. We wore khaki shorts and white shirts as
our school uniform. ose from well-to-do families wore belts over their
shorts aer tucking in their shirts, while others just tucked in their shirts
remaining beltless. But when we attended NCC sessions, the rule was to
wear the belt provided by the institution, and just tucking in the shirt
without the belt was not allowed. ough the belt provided was a little
worn out and old, I was not mindful of these things, and neither were the
instructors. But once my military uncle saw me shabbily dressed in the
worn out belt, he brought a plastic belt to wear over the shorts.
e belt was very attractive, and looked like a snake, and caught
everyone’s eyes at school. Uncle had bought it from the city for me, and I
liked it too. I went around the school with my friend Mathew showing it off
to others as if I were a ‘hero.’ In the village as well, I was very proud of such
a rare possession and started roaming around aunting it to other village
boys younger than me. But the poor boy Mathew had lost his heart to the
belt and was eying it. In those days, plastic products were very rare. Uncle
told me he had purchased it for two rupees. A few days passed with me
thus zooming. One day my friend Mathew came to me with an offer to
swap this snake belt, with which he had become possessed by now, for a
double-color pencil. is pencil had one end blue and the other end red,
and it was another rarity which I was seeing for the rst time, and it
became an object of fascination to me at the very rst sight. He had bought
it only that day from the market. We mutually agreed to exchange our
respective possessions. us the double-headed color pencil came to me
and the snake belt went to him. at is the mindset of children. Without
thinking about consequences, they do things and get into trouble.
Two days later, when uncle noticed that I was not wearing the belt, he
roared, asking—“Where is that belt?” Aer many years I was seeing him in
such overbearing anger, because I rarely gave him occasion to yell at me,
which he liked very much to do. So, that day he had got a golden chance to
jump upon me, like a hungry lion. Now I realized the mistake I had made
in my sympathy, and the fear grew in my mind, engul ng my heart. First I
thought of telling some lie and escaping from the scene. But how could it
be possible, as was I not the grandson of Satyavadi Harischandra 2 ? He
shouted, “Where is it?” Hearing the shout, most of the family members
appeared on the verandah and stood like silent spectators where I was
trembling like a goat in front of a roaring lion. No one dared to intervene
and ask or pacify or protect me from that precarious situation, such was the
command and authority of my uncle in our family. My throat started
choking up, and I said, “I exchanged it with my friend for a red and blue
pencil.” en all hell broke loose in a moment—the military uncle lost his
temper, took a one-foot ruler from his desk top and started beating me
black and blue. at foot rule was very heavy, made of wood and looked
like a baton, and he beat me with it till I fell down unconscious with pain. I
was crying like a mad dog, and no one but my courageous older sister, who
was more close to me than my parents, came forward to rescue me from
that devil’s hand. Many welts formed on my body and started swelling.
So going to school next day with those welts from Uncle, they became a
topic of discussion. ere were talks at school among pockets of friends that
I got a sumptuous feast of beating from Uncle for exchanging the belt.
Mathew also came to know about this, as one of the boys from my village
had heard of the incident and informed him. He came to me with tears in
his eyes soliciting, and pleading sorry and said, “Because of me, you got
very badly hurt yesterday.” He wanted to reverse the exchange. But by now
my heart had also grown in maturity from that incident, and I was resolved
to face whatever was impending. He said “You take this and return it to
your uncle,” and was just removing that belt from his shorts to return to
me, when I stopped him from doing so and told him not to worry. I said,
“My friend! In life we have to be ready to meet, face, and confront such
situations, when they are certain acts which our heart asks us to do for its
happiness.” I did not accept the belt, nor did I return his blue and red
pencil. I kept that pencil with me safely for a very long time as a memory in
my wooden box.
A lot of water had owed through the Ganges since then, years have
passed, and times have changed. On the day, before going to join my
Guruji at Mookambika 3 and entering into the life of a sanyasi, as I was
searching for some of my old papers and books, I found that blue and red
pencil kept unused till then in that wooden box. at brought back
memories of the friend and the associated incident. By now he had married
and settled down. I felt some sense of kinship with him and thought of
bidding him farewell. I went to Mathew to convey to him my decision to
leave the temporal home in search of the permanent one. He felt very
happy meeting me aer such a long time and was also one of those who
appreciated my decision to tread the path of godhood. Mathew was leading
a family life and taking care of an agricultural land for living. He
introduced his wife to me, who served food to both of us. We spent the
whole day reminiscing the school days we had spent together.
I took out the blue and red pencil, which I had purposely brought, from
within my shoulder bag and handed it back to him. Both of us had tears in
our eyes for some time. Sometimes, the impressions of incidents from
childhood, however insigni cant, may serve as life changing ones. Even
though at that moment, the incident was insigni cant to me or to anyone
with a worldly view, today as a sadhu knowing the unimaginable intricacies
and subtleties of human life, it offers me many insights that I can impart to
my disciples, who too can take recourse from my own life’s experience for
theirs. So I wanted them to be penned down here with the intention that
they might induce in the reader, an outlook on life, if they too have to face
similar situations in their lives. I would thus like to dedicate this chapter to
those children who may have met with such situations.
2 Harischandra is a legendary Indian king who is known for speaking truth and being truthful under
all circumstances, in this context being used anecdotally.
3 e days spent by Avadhoota Nadananda with his Guru, Tara Mayee, in the forest in Mookambika
which is a temple city in Kerala, southern India, is described in volume 1 of the Autobiography of an
Avadhoota .
 A Kiss And Blackmail

T
   is blind. I would rather say it is blinding, because in
the name of love, every ‘jeeva ’ here is engaged in blinding each
other, when in fact it is not love but sensual infatuation. While the
eyes of people still remain unopened, and their eyes lack even the basic skill
to see, they insist on maintaining that what they perceive with their limited
ability in the unreal ‘jagat ’ is the truth, and preach and try to establish that
as the reality. is is like a bird trying to assert that there is no space
beyond where it cannot y. When they nally realize that the darkness
around was due to their own deeds, they acknowledge that it was created
out of ignorance. But they forget about the need and necessity of unmaking
or dispelling the darkness that they themselves created, and le the
succeeding generation to keep groping in the same darkness with shame.
It was when I was in my tenth class (matriculation) in a nearby town. My
older sister and I (we were both in the same class but in different schools),
another girl studying in the ninth class, and her brother, and an eighth class
student- this was our group, and we walked together daily a four or ve
mile distance from village to school and back. We would even wait at both
ends for the others to join us, if anyone happened to be late by chance.
I was a good-looking young boy of 14 of 15, light-skinned, and a bit more
handsome than the others. I tried to add to my attractive looks by applying
burnt matchsticks to the just-appearing moustache, carefully managing to
make it look a little blacker each day. Some days my oldest sister would
scold me for this type of daily makeup. During the long walks, we used to
converse on topics, which sometimes we were not very knowledgeable of.
e girl in our group was what people would call pretty. She had a
vulture’s eye towards me, which I noticed only a few months later during
one of our group’s daily walks together. She would come to me on the
pretext of seeking help on some homework or this or that kind of imsy
grounds. I tried to avoid her company, sensing my composure getting
disturbed and irritated. But it was in vain as she tried to get closer by
inches, day by day. I was starting to get very nervous in her very presence
near me. Running aer girls was never in my nature. I do not know
whether those were symptoms of love, or perhaps it was just a teenage
crush or something that she actually had towards me.
It was during one of the ‘utsavams ’ (annual festival at our village
temple), that I was returning from the temple aer having darshan as a
neat, devoted Nambudiri boy with dazzling tilak adorning my forehead. It
was yet to be dark, even though the sun had set. I was passing through a
narrow path between lush green paddy elds which are characteristic of
Kerala. Both sides of the road were elevated and the path was like a walled
lane. I saw from a distance, the girl approaching from the opposite direction
and I thought that she too may be going to the temple. During such annual
festivals at temples, sometimes passionate youngsters would meet and
exchange their feelings of love. She stopped in front of me for a while, and
asked me to accompany her to the temple and back as it is getting dark. I
declined, and tried to move forward in the direction I was heading. I also
reciprocated out of the surge of youth and embarrassed her and thanked
her with a more sophisticated kiss. As we both lacked nerves even to talk
further, within a moment we separated and ew off on our own ways.
Aer the festival, the school resumed and our group’s walking together as
well. As this adolescence-related disturbance was now allowed to enter our
hearts, the effect was a considerable change in the way we glanced at each
other and our dealings during walks to school. Now I could see a difference
in her eyes and behavior towards me. In the meantime, my uncle gave me
a pen which he bought specially for me from town during his recent visit. It
was a self-inking pen with a gold plated nib. One had to just press on the
back of the pen and dip it in the ink, and the pen would re ll itself. No
extra ller was required. I with a gait, demonstrated its greatness among
my friends, and this girl too tried her hand in writing her name in my
notebook. But somehow she had lost her heart to the impressive pen, and it
seemed that she had decided to possess it somehow or the other from me.
See the weakness of a human being—she loved that insigni cant pen to the
point of infatuation, and courted me in order to obtain it from me. My
answer was total refusal as I too liked it very much, and for me it was
proving to be an object of dignity.
From the very next day itself she stooped to employ arm-twisting tactics
of milder kinds. I too regarded it as the exclusive female prerogative of
distracting and extorting from males. When she understood that I was also
a stingy miser and a class apart, she came all the way down to use the
exclusive weapon of the fairer sex—blackmailing. e next day while we all
were walking together she served the notice ultimatum to me. She said, “If
you don’t give me this pen, ok it’s no problem, but I will tell your older sister
that you kissed me forcibly on the utsavam day. And I know very well that
you cannot lie to your sister, and one of my friends is ready to pay witness
too.” I was extremely afraid that if by chance she let the cat out of the bag,
and the news reached my uncle, an unmarried army man with an extreme
hate of such things, what would be my plight? Moreover I held my sister in
high esteem, and she too had deep love for me. If this shrew let loose her
tongue, plenty of mine was at stake. e fear of being depreciated in value
by my sister and uncle, was eating into my peace.
is was the rst shock treatment I received from nature—to be
extremely alert in all dealings with women later on in my life. To one not
valuing dignity, such things are as child’s play, but to me it is dear as life
itself, from the beginning. I fell between the proverbial devil and deep blue
sea. I was not in a position to imagine my uncle’s reaction, especially aer
hearing the news of this kiss. And also a sea change came upon my heart.
What was de nitely noticeable was that when previously I’d had a mild
appreciation of her beauty, now I was seeing her as an ugly goblin. Today
and at this advanced age, I have come to believe aer a careful scrutiny of
things, that it had to be a subtle way of teaching by Providence to
completely erase out of my heart any chances of future infatuation. is
would have been the hardest of hard things to accomplish through our own
efforts as sadhakas . anks to the beauty of grace a great feat was done
with just an insigni cant jerk. But no one must consider that I have a
hating heart for women. If they do, they will be in grave error, for my
object of worship is verily the Universal Woman. I worship women, not
exploit them as others do.
 Now I tried to avoid her company from that day onwards, but it was not
possible. If I went alone to school, my older sister would question me about
the reason. So I was in a x. Daily, as a rule, that girl kept reminding me
about the pen. Whenever I would reply with a refusal, she with seething
blackmail would retort, “I will tell your sister.” One day I was reading
through the spiritual column of a newspaper about a story, in which a
vulture was ying in the sky with prey in its mouth when another vulture
spied it. at vulture then started to ght to grab that, with both vultures
ghting a long ght till at last the rst one thought that because of the
rotten rat in my mouth, the enemy is behind me. en he dropped the
rotten rat down, and the enemy also le him in peace. is story struck me
deeply, and I immediately decided to part with the object of my agony so
that I could remain in peace. So nally one day, just before the nal exams,
I handed that pen to her with the irrevocable warning that if she faltered
again, it may take her to ugly consequences to her disadvantage. us I,
saved my image as a ‘good boy’ and got the rst lesson on how an
infatuation for a split second can take us to the gallows.
I did choose to put this down because it offered me a lesson in
interpersonal relations, that you should not take anybody at face value if
you want to walk the way of divinity. In my case it was a mere pen, but we
have examples where great knights had been brought to their knees on
account of infatuation. True love never blackmails, for love verily means
sacri ce. Forget it, if it is infatuatio, be ready to pay the price. e art of
loving whether it be for a mother, father, brother, sister or wife, requires a
lot of sense of sacri ce. If you do not know that art, go the way of
compromised living which is what the west is exporting to India now free of
cost—where Radha and Krishna are not considered as icons of love but
valentines.
I respect love, support love, sponsor love, encourage love, help love and at
times redeem lovers too. But I am at logger heads with exploiters, and
blackmailers of both sexes. We have epics on love, temples for love, great
gurus to teach love, and friends who helped lovers. But for us it is a shame
to take lessons on love from perverts like valentines. Resort to our roots,
know and be aware of love, live for it, and die for it because it is an eternal
element and so worthy of it. It only evolves inside anyone into pure sel ess
devotion towards God and Self. Only one who knows the value of atma ,
who knows the worth of this human birth, who has self-respect, only such
a one can love others. To reach that loy ideal, we must rst serve
humanity sel essly for a long time, and especially the deprived section of
our contemporary society.
 The Money Lender Child

I    brought up in an unassuming, simple but orthodox

Nambudiri Brahmin family who were erstwhile Samantha rulers. Once the
republic was formed, the zamindari abolition bill was introduced and
trashed by the bystanders of our holy ght against British rule, and we thus
lost all our lands. Our family was reduced to the quandary of hand to
mouth existence, since previously the income was from the land. During
my elementary school days, I remember it may have been perhaps in class 3
or 4 that my oldest sister bought me a small clay ‘bank’ in which to deposit
the coins I would get from visiting relatives, and sometimes from my
mother or any elders. Usually it would be 1/4 ana . (One ana is 6 paisa ,
and 1/4 ana was a big amount for the child concerned). ere was a
wooden box-type table, which elders used for writing purposes in those
days. Since the upper part was broken, it was given to me, and I used it to
store my slate, pencil, one or two text books of alphabets, mathematics, etc.
I was afraid of my sister, who might take my pencil or slate away. I kept
the small clay bank in the inner corner of the box. My oldest sister gave me
a kaal ana (made of copper, which had a hole in the center, looking like a
vada ) and dropped it into the slot in that ‘bank’ as my rst saving. en I
went around showing it to other elders, father, mother, older brothers, and
even to Kochu Narayanan (who was the kaaryasthan —caretaker or
manager of the house) but none except my mother offered to contribute to
my ‘banking.’ During one of his visits, my father’s younger brother gave me
2 kaal anas and I, with utmost care, put it into the ‘bank’. My thinking in
those days was that if I put any amount in the clay bank, it would multiply
itself. Once one of my friends had kept a small peacock feather (as a lucky
charm) in my text book and told me that this feather would ‘deliver’ and if
it happened, we would do well in our studies and that the teacher would
never scold or beat us. With that foolish thought of an innocent mind,
every night, just before sleeping, I would open my small wooden box and
take out the ‘bank’ and shake it to hear the sound of the anas I had
deposited.
One day when I realized that my bank was not showing any signs of
getting full, I felt very bad. But on Vishu , a special occasion of the Hindu
New Year, children used to get some gis of money, say 1/4 or 1/2 annas
from elders. On Vishu ( New Year day celebration in Kerala) day some of
the elders gave me 1/4 ana each, and I added these also to the pool with
much devotion, as if I was doing some great deed. As usual one day I was
shaking the clay bank to nd out whether the deposited coins had
multiplied or not, and seeing this, my oldest sister got annoyed at my
foolishness and gave me a small shove to tease me. e bank in my hand
fell down and broke in pieces. It was not just the bank, but my great dream
itself that she broke. Even though the bank was broken, my mind was not
upset, as I could now nd out easily whether the amount had multiplied or
not. With all the curiosities of expectancy, I counted the amount and the
heavens were descending in my house, it was 3 and ½ Ana. I felt as happy
as if I had earned some very big amount. en my eyes went over to the
broken clay bank. I started thinking about a place to safely store the
savings, that ‘big amount’ that I had so meticulously saved, safe and secure
from the eyes of my sister or brother, but was not able to think of one.
Since I was starting to feel sleepy, I kept this issue pending for the time
being. I put the coins in the pocket of the shorts I was wearing. Usually
those pockets would be full of things like colored paper, or a beautiful dry
leaf, or one or two ‘gottis ,’ a broken whistle which my older brother had
given me during last year’s temple utsav , or a small pencil stub. Whenever
my oldest sister washed my clothes, she would throw away such ‘useless’
things, but again I would gather them up again and kept them. Only that
evening, had those pair of shorts been washed, so the pockets were empty. I
used to wonder sometimes about why those people scolded me for keeping
the so-called useless things in my pockets, though to me they were
valuable.
When I woke up in the morning and checked my pocket, the 3 and ½
anas were still safe in there. But I knew a bath from my older sister was due
soon, and then worrying that she might throw away this ‘big amount’
considering it useless too, I removed the coins from my pocket. I carefully
packed them in a piece of paper which too was not mine, having torn it out
of my sister’s notebook (since if I had torn out even one page from my own
book, they would have scolded me, so I thought I would let my sister get
the scolding) and kept the packed amount in the corner of the wooden
box.
As expected my sister called me for a bath. It was a Sunday. No school! At
rst I was a bit angry with my eldest sister since the previous night she had
broken my ‘bank’ locker and now even on a holiday she was insisting on a
bath. I did not enjoy the morning baths of my childhood days, as I never
liked the smell of the water. e pond in which we bathed in, that was just
in front of the grain storage room of our ancestral home, had been built by
the Maharaja of Travancore and gied to one of my uncles. It was always
full of oil with a dirty smell of soap.(due to the tradition of bathing aer
massaging the body with oil). In those days, soaps with good fragrance like
those today, were not easily available on the market, nor were they ever
purchased for the household. I went around the house in search of a place
to escape to. e old house was constructed of teak wood, without proper
ventilation, and so had many dark corners to hide in and I went and hid in
one of them. My mother who came in to get something from that room,
found me hiding in the corner, and asked what the hell I was doing there.
Without replying, and in fear of being beaten in the morning itself, I ran
away from the room by re ex, to where my eldest sister was doing some
cleaning, I escaped my mother, but fell into the clutches of my sister. She
caught hold of me and took me to the dirty pond for a wash. By this time
Kochu Narayanan was getting ready to go the market which was about 5
miles from the house. An idea clicked, slipping out from the hands of my
eldest sister, I ran to the room where the wooden box was kept. I carefully
took out the money from the wrapping and brought it to Kochu
Narayanan, asking how much a clay bank would cost.
He told me that it might be around ½ ana, and again with much care and
utmost reverence to the money, I took out 2 kaal anas and handed them
over to him to purchase a mud bank. My mother, elder sister and elder
brother were witnessing all this. While taking this amount and paying it to
Kochu Narayanan, my brother came forward and asked me, “Why don’t
you give it to me as a loan instead, which I will repay during the utsavam at
the temple.” He added, “You give me 3 anas and I will return you 4 anas
during utsavam . (at one ana might have been the interest on the loan
which I was supposed to get back from my brother). Without a second
thought I gave the 3 anas to my brother.
But till date, even though we have all become old, and the eldest sister—
the witness of the loan payment—has passed away, my brother has
forgotten to repay my 3 anas with the interest of 1 ana as he had vouched
for. is was my rst banking business in life that ended in bankruptcy. In
the evening Kochu Narayanan brought the small mud bank and even
though it looked nice and better than what I had before, there was not a
single 1/4 ana le with me to deposit in it. I kept the bank in a corner of
the room that was always dark, and I don’t know where the bank is today
or where the money has gone.
Today I remember the state of mind I had, when I was as one possessed
with the thought of that miniscule amount of money for days together,
absorbed and totally immersed with the idea of increasing, multiplying, and
safeguarding that small amount, and letting it disturb my whole routine of
studies. It goes to show that the power of desire is so great as to create the
delusion that an insigni cant thing is an all sustaining one. And the jeeva
forgets its real purpose and keeps engaged in penny management. When
money is lost, it feels as if life itself is lost. e teaching we get right from
childhood is about money—get money, save money, grow money and die
for money. Our knowledge about the true nature, value, meaning, and use
of wealth is totally a science of ignorance. Now our scriptures do not deny
the importance of money—if so, there would not have been a necessity for
Bhagawan to marry Laxmi and love, respect, and safeguard her the most.
at itself is a good indication as to what place, importance, respect, and
attitude our Rishis, the founding fathers of the Vedic way of life, had about
wealth. ere is no question of diminishing or undermining the value of
that element and factor called money in our existence. But our
understanding and attitude towards it makes us its slave. So before the
twilight of life descends on us, we should try to understand the real place
of wealth in our life. Perhaps an event like when my sister hit my elbow
breaking my clay bank, may happen to you too, to make you realize and
un-awe you about money, to make you wonder about how you wasted
your all-precious life pursuing it. e attitude towards wealth described in
our Vedic system is more pure, deep, divine, and life supporting like Laxmi-
Narayan and not greediness to wealth in today’s world which makes us only
losers, and never ever gainers.
So, my appeal with folded hands to the parents of today is that rst, you
gain the proper knowledge from the proper source in the proper method
about wealth, and then impart that knowledge to your children, along with
the wealth itself. Wealth without knowledge is going to end up becoming a
noose for them, which will choke and kill them—is that the gi you want
to bequeath your loved ones? ink before you indulge. Dharma does not
minimize the importance of wealth, but gives it the most prominent place.
at is why artha (material wealth) is second to dharma in purusharthas of
dharma (duty), artha (wealth), kama (desire), moksha (liberation). en
how can one say that God is against money? He is against your attitude
towards money, for is not Sri His all respect-worthy wife, and our Mother?
 The Yellow Shorts And The Mystic Hug

I
  C masam (August—September). Onam ( a major festival
celebrated in Kerala) was very near and in that season, one chettiar , a
wandering hawker from the neighboring state of Tamil Nadu, would
visit our village with bundles of clothes. Onam is a very special and major
annual event for Keralites, and new clothes are purchased for the festivities,
houses renovated or beauti ed etc. But as mentioned previously, our family
was facing a huge nancial crisis at that time, with difficulty in making ends
meet. I was not expected to have knowledge of the intricacies of the
situation, as that would the natural disposition of an immature lad.
Maturity does set in, with the ash within of sensitivity to feelings of
others, and I relate here the rst episode of the onset of that maturity.
As usual that year too, the chettiar , known as Lakshmanan Pillai, arrived
with his bundles of new clothes. Such people pass through the streets
hawking their wares, and thriving by exploiting the weaknesses of the
innocent children who crowd around them, much to the dismay and
dilemma of the parents. It is a delightful situation for children, but a
pathetic one for their poor parents. ese commercial traps have been
developed from the tactics of greedy businessmen, and every one of us are
still lured by them till death.
Children used to get new sets of clothing during Onam as it was
presumed mandatory, and every parent naturally wanted to see their loved
ones wearing new clothes. Lakshmanan Pillai headed straight to my
mother’s sister’s house, adjoining my house with one court yard shared by
both the houses. He started displaying his entire art of exploiting the
sentimental weakness of children and their parents. Standing on the
verandah of my house, I saw in the hands of my cousin sister Amminy, a
beautiful new frock, and alas! She came over to me showing her new frock
with great excitement. My older sister, the one who was two years older
than me, was also standing by me. She and I both were also expecting to
get new clothes that day. So, this hawker understood from our faces, that
we innocent children had fallen prey to his tactics, and now came to our
house to encash it. Lakshmanan Pillai opened his bundle and started
showing his stock of clothes, or rather cane of worries.
From childhood itself, I have always liked the color yellow. My gaze
stopped on a pair of yellow shorts that he had in his stock. Without pausing
to think, and in a ash of a moment I laid my hand over and I picked it up
or rather grabbed it. My mother for the rst time was giving me a lesson in
discipline; but it did not go down my throat. She told me (and even now I
remember the distress in her voice from having to refuse due to abject
poverty) to place it back, and told me that we would purchase it during
Lakshman Pillai’s next visit. I was not ready to accept her forlorn pleas. My
sister didn’t seem to be in a hurry to select anything. But I was adamant
that I must get it right then. I saw her head hang down from the painful
inability to ful ll the desire of her loved one. My mother went into the
kitchen and called up Gowri, the maid. ey were saying something which
was not clear to me. My mother came out and asked Lakshman Pillai,
“What is the price of the pair of shorts?” It was only one rupee and four
anas . Gowri appeared in a few minutes and passed on the amount needed
into my mother’s hands.
Happy to get the pair of yellow shorts in hand, I displayed them to my
sister, in great glee. But the poor girl’s heart was otherwise, not able to enjoy
her brother’s achievement. Her face hung dull, sunk in despair as she could
not get new clothes. But even though I was extremely happy to get my
desire ful lled, yet the look of despair on my sister’s face broke my heart,
and is still green in my memory even today. My happiness started
evaporating; I thought I had committed a sin. It was wrenching my heart.
To add to that sorrow, my oldest sister informed me in the evening that
my mother had sold four coconuts to arrange for the required amount, i.e.
one rupee and four anas . She chided me to not be adamant for such things
without knowing the situation, and to not put our parents through
suffering. I ought to have rst enquired whether money was available at
home or not. at moved me, and that day saw me, a boy becoming a man.
I felt my eyes grow wet at my sister’s disappointment. I felt she was more
entitled to this than me. e jubilant mood from getting a new pair of
shorts, even in yellow, which I liked so very much, had now gone to hell. It
was a regret for a lifetime. It is the rst time I started feeling a sense of
responsibility, and a feeling of love for others, which is a sign of the dawn
of maturity in a child. And for the rst time I felt too, that sense of love and
concern for one’s sibling, with the face in my mind’s eye, that of my younger
sister when she saw my shorts. I kept quiet for some time, and with a
feeling of guilt consciousness, placed those shorts in the small wooden box
where I used to keep my books, pencils and even my kudukka, the clay
bank. A strong feeling worth mentioning engulfed me, which prevented me
from wearing the shorts, rather it looked like a monument of foolishness.
So I was not at all in the frame of mind to wear it on Onam day. us that
Onam, the beginning of the year, was for me a kind of awakening. In the
middle of the day my mother saw me in old shorts and asked, “Why didn’t
you wear the new one?” I said with a sinking voice of shame, “Maa! My
heart did not accept, for I have hurt my sister, so until she too gets a new
frock of her liking, I will not touch it. I beg pardon—sorry Maa for my
foolishness. I swear, I swear, I will not do it again.” Shaking with tears, I
touched her feet. On hearing this she took me to her bosom. Even today I
feel that priceless warmth of love, the special reward of love worth a
thousand lives. at hug and the experience went so deep in me. My
mother planted a deep kiss on my forehead, and all-purifying pearls of love
ran down from her eyes over my head. And as a memento of my
foolishness or ignorance, and the start of the functioning of the faculty of
maturity, I kept the shorts wrapped in a piece of newsprint, inside that
wooden box. And love for such things were gone from my mind, once and
for all. I remember that the shorts were in the box even when I got to my
tenth class, but I forgot about it thenceforth. Even today, whenever I see
yellow clothing, I remember the mistake I committed.
 A Few Scattered Memories

A
   had passed since I completed writing the rst
part of the Indian edition of my autobiography—e Pyre of the
Destined 4 . It was in May 2011. I received many calls enquiring
about the second part of the book. Of course when a book is named as rst
part, the expectations for the next part is only natural. I was incapacitated
for a long time due to cardiac problems and kept on hold the writing work.
My memory also seemed to be fading, or at least a little of its fertility. But
the extremely good care given by the dedicated Maram family, I am feeling
better now, little recovered too. When the mind is gathering courage, one
has to apply and put it to use in order for it to multiply, otherwise though
one may wait for courage to grow to fullness, yet it may not happen.
erefore let me try, and as for courage, even if you apply yourself with just
a little, it will keep on increasing on its own. So I have decided to write
down to the extent possible, but this time around, I am not in a position to
write about my experiences in chronological order but a few as scattered
memories.
Even though my poverty ridden boyhood is not sweet enough for much
remembrance, it does hold in its womb the gems of messages that surely
have universal applications. My boyhood (though not childhood), despite
being caught in a whirlpool of circumstances from ignorance of child
psychology, did pass off with colors just due to the grace of the guru.
I venture here to recall, and believe my memory to be accurate, that it
may have been around the age of 10 or 11. My studies had become a
concern, and a rather uphill task for my poor parents to accomplish. Aer
exploring a lot of avenues within their reach, and with no other option in
sight, I was separated from them and sent to stay with my maternal uncle
for my studies, far away from home. Since they loved me very much, for
them too, the separation from me was unbearable agony. I hope and expect
it to be so for any parent in this world. Until the point children acquire and
develop the ability to exist independently of the parents, separation will be
unbearable for both, and in many instances dying together may be the
destiny. Destiny spares none, this is a truth everyone must remember well
unto their heart. e element called destiny, whenever it gets a chance or
you give it a chance to play, will not spare anyone even from Lord
Narayana himself to a pauper like Sudama 5 . But the irony is that the so
called edi ce of destiny is raised and erected, from our own actions.
I had just completed my 4th class. Late one aernoon during summer
vacation, when I had woken from a daytime nap, I saw many of my family
members sitting together and they seem to be deep in discussion on
something which was beyond the undeveloped comprehensive faculties of
a 10-year old. Even with that little ability of comprehension, I was able to
make out to some extent that they were talking about money matters,
loans, their repayment etc. What else is there in this world to talk about—
only two things, one is about money or wealth, and the other about
women, and if those didn’t work out for you, then you immersed yourself
in wine. is is the internet (www) age. In the evening that poor innocent
girl, my older sister, was appointed the bearer of the bitter message of my
moving to my uncle’s for future studies, the present location having failed
to produce the features in me, or the future that they had expected or
envisaged. My uncle was retired as a Major from the military, and was then
a school teacher teaching the Hindi language. So the Major was going to
control me, the minor. I was wondering why I was being sent away from
my parents. But what could they have done—they merely wanted to
distribute something amongst the children, and since they only had a lot of
miseries, they distributed those, and well in advance. I learnt from my
sister to my surprise, that my older brother would also be parting for
studies, along with the oldest brother. I felt sad, as I liked the ancestral
house a lot—it was an aesthetically pleasing atmosphere to me, a lover of
nature by birth. e surroundings of countryside with lush greenery, pure
air and pure hearts, a small river owing in front of the house, my little
friends, especially Lakshmi , my pet cat—too many to count. e vague but
scary picture of my family’s poor nancial condition was, and is fresh even
now, in front of my eyes. I presume, because I have a lot of time to ponder
on it now, that this may have been the reason for the reshuffle in my family
setup. e following week, I was asked to be ready to go with uncle. What
could a small boy of 10 years, grasp about the commitments and situations
of a big family? Aer a four year-stay with my uncle, I returned to join
another school for matriculation that was ve miles from my native village.
But I noticed that there was now a perceptible difference in the intensity of
kinship between my older brothers and I, and an unrepairable gap of
emotional emptiness and loss of intimacy that had now come between me
and my elders, especially my parents. is absence gave birth to the
spiritualistic tendencies that have brought me this far.
ose ve years, wow! I was groomed into becoming a man in a very
demanding atmosphere of very strict discipline. Even though all who retire
from service in the military or police are taught to disorient themselves
from the military mentality, all of them without exception want to continue
living the same way. And my uncle followed this too, obsessed with his
military discipline even aer retirement. He taught me English, especially
grammar, based on the book by ‘Wren and Martin’. Looking back to that
iron age of days with my uncle, I feel that whatever is memorized or
learned in youth remains almost evergreen since our ‘memory chip’ was
pure and without virus in the beginning, in technical terms, virgin. Only
later we download for free from others, even parents, all the viruses called
samskaras , impressions, tendencies, complexes, attitudes, habits—the
memory card! So I very well remember the agony, tortures, harassments
that I was offered, asked, taught, expected to know, trained to follow, obey,
and adhere in order to maintain the ‘military discipline’. is method has to
date, not produced, not even one person, whose life can be called a role
model, one worth emulating, and those adopting such methods have not
even been able to train their own children. I used to have a fully packed
time-table of routines from waking till going to bed, with dos and don’ts
written in big letters. One such was posted in my room in his house, with
another around my neck like the ID card of today, while ID cards have
value, but not the humans owning them. As far as worldly comforts were
concerned, I was well-provided for, with better food, modern clothes, etc.,
but even though I had those comforts, something was missing—there was a
sense of vacuum—the affection, the love, a pat, that warm hug of my
mother when I returned from school, the so word which a child by nature
always expects and likes to have all along, always. But nature likes a child
to become a man, and not for a man to be childish. And so, the so-called
universal disease of homesickness attacked me. Sitting alone, I used to cry
at nights, thinking about my mother or my home in the village, or my ever-
loving pet Lakshmi the cat. It is natural for every child to pass such a phase
in life, even more than once, but the difficulty is the lack of awareness in
the parents, who are the cause for this child to enter this world.
Everyone knows the technique well, how to produce a child but they least
care about learning the art of raising a child. Once I slipped into
homesickness, just like it happens to anyone who is thus afflicted—absent-
mindedness, attention-de ciencies, etc., followed. But a child-less man,
who has not had a single lesson in child psychology, resorts to idiotic
teaching methods to hide his shameful ignorance. ose stunt a child. So I
used to receive a lot of the medicine from a madman—severe corporal
punishment—beating by hand, and when the hands grew tired, beatings
with sticks, and kicks even with their holy legs. ese were for my blunders
in studies, especially in mathematics, the worst science invented by humans
to make the whole world accountable. e very rst week itself (aer
leaving home) a fear complex or insecure feeling developed in my mind
and to my wonder they remain even now, those impressions in spite of my
deep spiritual understanding, attainments etc. e same scary picture, is
created even today.
is is to drive home the point about learning at least to some extent, the
lesson of child psychology as taught by our rishis, not by the modern world,
so you may be successful in presenting to the world a good human being,
and to the hope that no child ever receives the treatment I did. Somewhere
in the recesses of the subconscious mind, those impressions of insecurity
still exist. But with an entirely different meaning. ey are still tender. e
intention here in writing this is not to cast blame, charge, accuse, or
devalue anyone but to make you aware about what childhood is, its phases,
how well it can be handled. is I have learnt from my own life. Just like
blotting paper, a child’s mind absorbs all the plusses and minuses inevitably
prevailing in its environment, and the circumstances which he or she has to
go through.
Like a caged bird, I used to look at the sky for hours together (in the
absence of my uncle) and wonder about my fate. When I see them from
here now, they were all merely empty emotions, but gave me very deep
anguish. It has been so for every child I have come across, especially during
my short stint with Vanavasi Kalyan ashram in Dehradun.
Even though the mind of that child was disturbed, his studies went well.
During summer vacations, I was taken to my village for a few days to stay
with my parents. To be frank, I hated my mother, father and other elders in
those days, as some unknown force compelled and convinced me that all
these people were nobody to me. During my college days, when I read
child psychology, I understood about all those sensibilities. Slowly those
negative psychological feelings which had been burning like a re inside a
contained furnace, empowered and turned the direction of my
consciousness levels, and I started loving ‘the Mother Goddess’ for refuge.
When I was in the 6th class, I got a small, pocket-sized picture of Durga ,
the Mother Universal, from one of my classmates. I used to hide it between
the pages of my textbook. As there was no pooja-room or shrine in the
major uncle’s residence, there was no daily worship system. Occasionally he
would invite some ‘purohits ’ to do some kind of poojas which were yet
unfamiliar to me, and I was not sure for what purpose. But everyday aer
bathing in the river, on his way back home, my uncle used to visit a temple
on the river banks. I used to follow him daily and I remember it was an
Ayyappa 6 Mandir . I use to get a banana or trimadhuram as prasadam , but
to my wonder my uncle never allowed me to eat it. I had seen though some
of my classmates having darshan at that village mandir and eating that
sweet prasadam . My uncle had a different logic, or let’s say worm in his
mind—“e prasadams that these poojaris hand out, are not at all
hygienic.” Keeping the prasadam in my hand, and walking the long
distance back home was a tragic parading event for me.
Regarding the picture inside my textbook, a faith slowly took root in me,
and later grew to become a practice, that if one was seeking relief from the
miseries of this world (in my personal case it was the seeking of a remedy),
then that refuge could be found only in the form of mother, a friend, a
savior.
Aer the examinations ended, in the summer vacations, there used to be
tradesmen or paperwalas going around neighborhoods who would buy
paper and old books. Some smart mothers used this opportunity to seek out
better bargains for used textbooks. When the new academic year began and
I was purchasing new books, I noticed one day that my mother had done
away with my old books, following the annual ritual. When I came to know
of this, a oodgate of turbulent emotions opened up. I did not realize that
even without my knowledge, somehow I had developed such a love for
Maa that I was feeling the same old heartbreak I had experienced at the
time of leaving my parents to stay with my uncle. I felt like I had parted
from someone most near and dear to my heart—the feeling was not for the
loss of the book, but for the Divine Mother’s picture which had been kept
inside. I cried and cried and cried. Aer two or three days, some intuition
came, and meeting the old paperwala on the street, I spoke to him with
tears in my eyes about my photo. He was moved, and said, “Don’t worry
my dear boy, I will do my best to nd that picture of the Mother for you.
And true to his words he did put in the effort to nd that picture, and give
my Mother back to me. is was my rst kiss of grace by the Mother. It was
a happy moment of a deeper transformation taking place in me. As a small
boy it may have been just an act of adoring but when I remember it now,
aided with the knowledge of the value and ways of grace, how closely She
was taking care of me without my knowledge. e next day when he
brought back the photo to me aer searching through all his bundles, he
said, “Look, I have worked for four or ve hours to search and nd this.
You must compensate me for this with a good amount of money when you
are grown up, and in a job.” I did grow up, and did get a job, le that job,
and became sanyasi. I doubt now the exact meaning of those words:
whether they were the words of the paperwala said with love, or whether
they were those of the Mother with some hidden meaning. I feel it may
have been Her, but his payment is a sweet due yet! In the pace of my life, I
have failed to remember him and repay his debt. is may be the rst runa
needing to be paid! During those ve years I lived a dull life, except for the
days when my sister or others visited from back home.
My pet cat Lakshmi was a very affectionate friend during my childhood
days. I was in the 6th class when one day I received a postcard in the mail
from my mother. at was the rst letter received in my life. I was so happy
to receive a letter, and that too from my mother that I broke down while
reading it. e letter brought sad news of the death of my pet Lakshmi. I
felt as if I had lost everything—yes, when a true friend is lost it feels like
almost everything is lost. More than my parents and elders, I had loved
Lakshmi and I am sure I too got the same affection from her, as she would
sleep, eat, and play with me everyday during my childhood. Lakshmi
appears to me in my dreams even now.

4 e autobiography of Nadanandaji was initially published in India as two books namely—e Pyre
of the Destined and Roaring Silence . e books have since been published in two volumes under the
title, “Autobiography of an Avadhoota”.
5 One of the stories of the Bhagavatham text—Sudama is Krishna’s childhood friend who is from a
poor family and comes to visit Krishna with a handful of puffed rice as an offering. e offering
pleases Krishna and he turns into a wealthy man. e lesson of the story is not to be greedy and
always remember the Lord before having food.
6 Lord Ayyappa is a Hindu deity fused with the energies of Shiva and Vishnu.
 Impulsive Genius Of A Humble Caretaker

E
   us may have experienced more than once in our lives,
that unconventional wisdom wins over conventional wisdom. But
that does not amount to making a rule that a conventional approach
is of no use. is unconventional wisdom is also a mere gain of one’s
conventional efforts from a previous birth. When I think of this fallout, an
incident comes to mind.
Kochu Narayanan, the loyal and dedicated karyasthan (care taker) of my
family had a lot of in uence in my life in the area of social activity. He
acted in all capacities as manager, servant, friend, and advisor to all and
sundry in our household, and who served our family loyally over three
generations both in its days of glory and days of doom. He had a spotless
reputation among our family members. In my childhood he was like an
ideal to me as far as engaging oneself in action without a grudge was
concerned. He was at work in our house from early morning up until late
at night and was systematic, disciplined and a good organizer too. I loved
him deeply, as he helped me more than my elders in everything a child
needs. Due to the curse of untouchability prevailing in those days, I was
not allowed to mingle with him freely or sit near him. I never cared about
the rules though, and got scolded by my mother on that regard. On
holidays, while he worked at the eld, I would sit by him, fascinated to see
the sweating drops emerging on his body and falling down every moment.
He too kept me engaged with his folk stories. His two sons, Subhash and
Santosh became my friends. ey would accompany their mother, who
used to help my mother while she worked in the yard cleaning rice, dal or
such things. Even during the days of our dire family nancial crisis, the
group of servants were content to live with the entire family, within the
constraints of their means.
Kochu Narayanan was very well-versed in the stories of the Ramayana
and Mahabharata . One day while taking a small break in work to chew
betel leaves or paan , he asked me, “Could you tell me, my respected young
master, why Ravana had ten heads? Was there a meaning behind it?” I was
in my matriculation. Even though I was well-familiar with such stories from
the basic scriptures of our culture, I was not prepared however to face such
posers. I rattled my brains for an answer, but nothing clicked. I went
around asking my mother, oldest sister, brother and a few others, in all
innocence but also with a sense of prick to status, in search of a suitable
answer to his question. But everyone had their own babblings—while some
answered vaguely, others just laughed.
My inquisitive curiosity turned to dismay! Finally I decided to seek the
answer from Kochu Narayanan himself and went to him in a dejected
mood. He said, “You got no answer?” He laughed for a moment and told
me, “e ten heads of Ravana imply that Ravana possessed the combined
intellect of ten persons.” I was delighted to hear the answer and amazed at
the intellect of that illiterate villager. is incident opened my eyes and
cultivated in me the habit of reading between the lines.
Whatever work was entrusted to him, Kochu Narayanan did
wholeheartedly, and in a systematic disciplined way, for he had been
trained by our old grandfathers. So he was like the connecting thread of the
old customs of our forefathers. I used to spend most of the time with him,
observing how he did his tasks, in the eld, in negotiating purchases, in
accounts, and in everything. One thing that I however was not able to
digest by instinct was that his food was served to him on the verandah of
our house. Sometimes, I used to insist to mother that I be served food
alongside him. is transgression earned me lot of scoldings from all my
family members. In those days it was unimaginable that a Nambudiri boy
sit near a person from the Chettiar community for meals. But I was
adamant in having my food sitting by his side, and despite the negative
comments from other elders of the house, I ate food sitting near him at
every opportunity.
Even as early as my matriculation days, I was starting to gain awareness
and enlightenment about the changes taking place in society, and had
begun reading books on the social structure of that era, of the terrible
practice of untouchability and the eradication of that menace among
people. Aer a few years, I happened to attend a satsang of a Swamiji in a
nearby town, in which he spoke on the concepts of the four-fold ways of
the Vedic way of life. e edi ces called varna and ashram were the dictum
of the great rishis . ough society was divided into the four castes, no caste
was deemed greater in dignity or respectability than the other. All had
equal responsibility to contribute to the collective welfare and evolution of
the society as a whole. But as time passed, certain elements of society began
over-reaching their rights, and with sel sh motives started to deliberately
distort the very rules that had been designed for their own welfare,
exploiting or disregarding them. e result was that both the varna and
ashram systems began collapsing into ruin. Society is still unaware of the
real magnitude of the loss that was thus incurred. Some intellectuals say
during the course of a single day, a person’s life may contain all the four
kinds of tendencies and in stages and steps, we unknowingly pass and
perform all these actions. e Swamiji said further that when doing puja in
the morning for example he could be called a Brahmin , when managing
the family affairs with authority he would be a Kshatriya, when purchasing
the daily needs or engaging in trade a Vaishya and when doing petty work
a Shudra But this explanation was merely super uous. When I read up in
detail and contemplated on this, I understood the importance of the verse
in the Bhagawad Gita— ‘chaturvarnyam maya srishtam, guna karma
vibhagasa 7 . ’ e citizens constituting the society were classi ed and
compartmentalized only on the basis of division of the work to be done for
a smooth functioning harmonious society. is classi cation was not
according to guna. e gunas of a person indicate the inherent disposition,
and the karma from the previous birth now manifesting as inclinations.
ey are the means and resources provided in the current birth, as
equipment for the journey towards the nal goal of a human birth. Due to
foolishness, or rather ignorance, I was under the impression that Lord
Krishna was a socialist, or ‘samatva vadi ’ or advocate of a classless society.
No society however materially advanced it may become, can ever see the
face of peace and happiness if its citizens are not classi ed and educated to
live in mutual dependency with equal rights over the resources at its
disposal,. is dictum of the rishis is beyond dispute and anyone however
great and intelligent he may consider himself, should not work against it or
he would be misleading his own fellow humans to hell. He would be the
real demon.
By the time I le home to lead the life of an ascetic, Kochu Narayanan
had grown very old, but even then he frequented our house to do a little
work and oversee other workers in a supervisory role. He felt extreme
anguish at my leaving home, and tried in vain to convince me with the
worn-out story and argument that God could be realized even while living
at home. His logic was very different, “You can very well do tapas staying
right here at home. Why then do you want to run away from us all?” I paid
homage to his love for me, and made no attempt to argue with him or
convince him otherwise, due to his pure-hearted and good intentions.
More than twenty ve years later in Delhi, I met his son Subhash, the
closest friend of my youth, with whom I had so many shared experiences
including acting in plays together. From him, I learned of the demise of his
father Kochu Narayanan, the moral and emotional pillar of support during
my childhood and youth, the one who had taught me about self-discipline,
hard work, and even about viewing situations with a positive perspective.
He had been a good friend, mentor, advisor, and older brother to me. Here
I do offer my prayers for him—“May his spirit rest in peace.”

7 Bhagavad-Gita Chap 4.13—states that there are four orders of classes namely Brahmana,
Kshatriya, Vaishya and Shudra were created by the Creator/Creation (maya) according to the
quality of the individual (guna) and work to be carried out in the society (karma).
 Oh! You Are That Boy

A    childhood never fade. I was in class six, staying for
my studies with my ex-military uncle, far from my loving parents. As I was
new to that school, having joined there just one year prior in class ve, I
did not have many friends.
In those days I had to wear shorts with suspenders in the European style,
in accordance with the wishes of my uncle. e suspenders held up my
shorts which were a bit over-sized, my future-minded uncle having
purchased them with my growing age and chubbiness in mind. But they
had a defect in that the le shoulder belt would keep slipping out
frequently. It was a nuisance in that it needed very careful handling to
maintain and keep in place. And except for when I was in school, these
were the shorts I would most oen be wearing while playing outside or at
home. ere were no upper garments to support the shorts, and my le
hand was almost always engaged in the duty of rearranging the belt again
and again. One of the pockets on the shorts was a little ripped as well, and
as a result whatever I put in could easily fall out.
One day while playing in the courtyard of the house where I stayed, I
found a small gotti made of glass. It had quite a unique look and therefore
it became a precious thing to me. e thinking among children is that the
value of something is more depending on how rare and uncommon it is,
and so I prized this gotti since none of my friends had anything like it. is
special toy used to be found inside soda bottles. Blue in color, and though
smeared with dirt from the courtyard this new asset was precious to me. I
gave a good bath to this new friend and aer drying it by wiping it on my
clothes, placed it in the safety of my shorts pocket, forgetting that the
pocket had a hole. I would keep checking in the pocket again and again, to
make sure it was there—in the manner of a worldly creature who, even
aer it has been proved and established that there is not a single drop of
happiness in the world, still hangs on with the hope that he will get it
someday.
e following day I was returning from the village aer successfully
completing a mission of purchasing a bar of soap from the store, for which I
had been sent by my uncle. While putting the soap into my pocket, I found
to my deepest dismay that my darling gotti had dropped herself out
through the hole in my shorts! I felt as if the sky had fallen, and went
around looking for my good friend, but even aer long searching failed to
locate it. I had completely forgotten that I had been sent on an errand. Not
only did I not return with the soap, I was extremely late too. I had to face
my furious uncle whose daunting words were, “Why are you so late?” At
rst I kept mum for a minute, but when I told him about my search for the
lost gotti , he ew into a rage. He beat me again and again for keeping him
waiting for the soap, and as his evening bath was delayed because of me.
What can one do in a world where elders are ever expecting children to
behave in ways developmentally beyond their age, but children expect
elders to behave below their age by showing understanding and sensitivity.
Even in this era of science, adults are direly and pressingly in need of
lessons in child psychology. ough they are failing badly in properly
preparing and educating themselves to raise a child, this illiteracy never
stops them from producing children. Not only is the work of producing
children not suspended, they do not bother to take the time to learn how
to properly bring up a child. I was thinking in my mind thus—see how
cruel this fellow is, I have lost my most cherished new friend, the valuable
gotti , and this man is not having a bit of sympathy for me, and punishing
me for coming just a little late. is situation was like the tale of the old
woman who went to see a mahatma complaining that her water-buffalo
had not produced any milk that day. When instead the mahatma gave her
Vedantic advice, the woman went about saying that the baba did not have
a bit of concern regarding her buffalo, and kept talking like an idiot about
something else.
Of course, within a couple of days I had all but forgotten that ‘friend’, in
the way that the modern, educated young widow of a millionaire who died
young, goes back to normal and prepares to nd a better husband. Aer
now obtaining some other petty thing to play with, I did forget my old
darling. But just as it happens in the typical love triangle, to my wonder one
day at school, I saw that my lost darling gotti was now in the possession of
Saudamini, a classmate of mine. She had stumbled upon it by chance, and
was playing with it in all innocence. But my greed came to fore when I saw
it in her hands and I accused her of stealing it. I asked her ercely to return
my gotti , but with the con dence of an Indian well-aware of her
constitutional rights, she replied, “I found it on the roadside near that
village shop, and so this is mine now, not yours.” And had I not too
acquired it in the same way from the roadside a few days back, so what
right could I have upon such a thing? I was failing to remember and
acknowledge this logic. She was certainly within her rights but I, a kaliyugi
jeeva, had started asserting my ownership over it.
Today when such incidents spring afresh from memory, as a sadhu I now
have a new understanding from within on the foolishness of humans
chasing aer and ghting for perceived rights on gotti -like things, which
we have lost from carelessness. e state of affairs of the ‘learned grownups’
is not too different. ough the objects, characters, and situations have
changed, the basic elements that ignite a con ict or quarrel remain same—
the lack of love for others, the narrow-mindedness and short-sightedness,
and no faith in the virtue of forgiveness.
Even aer repeated requests, Saudamini was still not ready to ‘return’ the
gotti to me. I was angry but it did not occur to me how idiotically I was
behaving, and nor was I able to accept or digest the fact that it was only my
foolishness and carelessness that was the cause of loss. Depressed at not
getting back the gotti, and stinging with the humiliation of not being
honored as a boy aer repeated requests, I pulled at her dress in anger and
struck out at her. Not only did her dress tear off, but my long nails made a
cut on her cheek, which started to bleed. Sensing now the gravity of the
situation, I grew afraid and slinked away to the bench in my classroom. By
this time the issue of the ‘war’ between us had reached the headmaster’s
ears. Since I was a relative of a teacher (my uncle) who taught in the same
school, I had been getting special consideration in the school so far. But this
time, that did not work. e headmaster appeared in the classroom along
with my uncle, and I was rewarded with legitimate beatings in front of all
the students for my unlawful quarrel. e headmaster and my uncle took
Saudamini to the office room to apply dressing to the wound caused at my
hands.
In the evening a good ‘reception’ awaited me at uncle’s home. Not only
did I get a fresh feast of beatings from uncle, but was also ordered to go to
Saudamini’s house to apologize for the incident. Dinner that evening was
also not to be served to me till I went and said ‘sorry, pardon me’ to
Saudamini. As I nurtured a strong ego—that protected ‘ego’—was not
willing to yield to disgrace. inking to myself that only the evening’s meal
would be denied but not lunch, I took double the amount of food at lunch.
I thought that this way having no dinner would not matter, at least for a
few days. Seeing this my uncle was perhaps smiling within, and le me to
the test, knowing that a boy will always be a boy and that is very difficult
for anyone to win over hunger. I was no exception, for in this world
‘Hunger is the king who rules without a throne’. And the situation was
worsening due to the diplomatic pressure mounting on me, from the
goodwill of the victim’s family. In any case I lost my battle, which did not
have any valid moral strength anyway. So I went to her house with head
hanging, to offer reluctant apology with the ags of antagonism hoisted
down.
Saudamini was playing by the verandah with her younger brother, and
with the same gotti . Her mother was sitting nearby. Saudamini displayed
graceful acceptance of my apology, showing that women too will always be
women, gied with the angelic ability to forgive easily. She demonstrated
the all-forgetting, generous nature of womankind which alone sustains this
world in spite of all its aws. I felt really ashamed of myself. As if nothing
had happened, Saudamini invited me to join her in playing with the gotti . I
went near her and said ‘sorry’ for whatever had happened in school. I
could still see the dressing to the wound on her cheek, so deep had been
the scratch I had in icted from my act of greed.
At that time I was unaware of why the Mother is worshipped as ‘baala’ ,
and why the earth itself called ‘kshama’— it is only because of that divine
and all-forgiving nature inbuilt in every woman, and if by exception this
quality is absent, she is called ‘abaala ’. I felt repentance at my doing, and I
hope it was a play by my Mother whom I worship, to teach me about
motherliness. From that very moment, regard and respect for the whole of
womankind leapt up and increased in my heart. e incident with this
‘baala ’ is an undeletable chapter of my life which contains in it lessons of
deep signi cance.
When we keep our eyes open to every incident we come across, there are
a lot of lessons contained in them that we can learn from. But if we
arrogantly decide to keep our eyes closed, not even an efficient and skilled
teacher can teach us anything. Aer all, she was suffering all that pain only
for a gotti . I wept and her mother came near and told me not to cry and
tried to soothe me by saying that it is was not uncommon for children to
get cuts and wounds while playing. Saudamini came forward and offered
the gotti to me. ere were tears, nay, purifying waters of the Ganga I must
say, in her eyes too. I told her, “Mini, do not cry. I am sorry for whatever
happened. I tender an unconditional apology. You keep the gotti with you
and play, I don’t need it.” I stepped back and walked a few steps away.
Saudamini came running to me, put her hand around my shoulder, and
asked, “Did uncle beat you too much?” Even today I can remember those
sublimely sweet words of concern ringing in my ears. She said, “Now I say
sorry, for it was because of me and this useless gotti that you got beatings
from headmaster and uncle”. Saying so, she threw away that gotti onto the
ground nearby. I walked back home. Both of us were classmates and
studied together till the tenth class. e black thick scar, of my nails was
always on her cheek, and whenever I saw her face I felt bad for my
misdeed. ough at that age I was unable to appreciate the intensity of the
warmth of love, and the value of the sacri ce in the tiny heart of that girl
because of my immaturity, today, I feel ful llment in writing this as a
tribute to that angel of love. If I make the mistake of regarding this incident
as small and insigni cant, as perhaps most other people in the world might,
I will not have earned or learned anything by becoming a saint.
Years passed by. Aer leaving school I never again saw Saudamini or
remembered the foolishness of childhood. But when I was in Mookambika,
one day I was sitting on the banks of the Sauparnika, a couple came to
meet Maa , my Guruji, and with them was a child. When I saw the young
woman with her child and husband, and with a scar on her cheek, I
immediately recognized her, but due to decorum I did not ask anything.
She too seemed to have recognized me for without speaking, though with a
trace of doubt, she started rolling her ngers on the marks on her face, as if
asking me for veri cation. I could easily recollect the black, thick mark on
her cheek. Now I decided to clear the air and asked her, “Are you not Mini,
do you remember me?” She shook her head to indicate that she did not. Of
course, I was now in kashaya robes and had changed a lot, and besides
who would remember such silly incidents of schooldays in an ever-
changing life. I asked her, “Do you remember the incident behind the
thick, black mark on your cheek?” She burst out crying,” Oh! You are that
boy!” Her husband was looking at our faces with puzzlement on his face.
en I narrated to him the whole story.
I felt happy to meet a known face in that unknown forest. ey informed
me that they were in Mookambika for the aksharabhyasam of their little
boy. ey invited me to attend the ceremony and with Amma ’s permission
I joined them. I gave their son a small blue similar gotti (which I bought
from a shop near the mandir ) to celebrate the occasion, telling him not to
ght for it as his mother and her friend had done in their school days. I do
feel immense solace in remembering this as a tribute to that pure tender
heart which taught me the lesson of forgiveness, and a lot of gratitude at
the feet of my Mother Goddess who came in the form of a loving child to
teach me the greatness of mercy. If any reader deems this trivial, or a
meaningless childhood incident, I say to them—get lost.
 The Inexplicable Days

W
 I  him for the rst time, I was scared to look into his
face. He was jet black in complexion, with a long beard, a well-
built body and rough looking, but a radiant smile on his face.
His manner was very calm, welcoming, and loving. e Hindus called him
with the name Sreedharan, and the Christians called him omas. But
nobody knew for sure whether he was either of those, though they did
recognize him almost as a different species of being. I never enquired of
him where he was born and brought up, and he never told me too. He had
been in our village since long, working for years as a menial laborer in the
agricultural elds. He possessed nothing other than a couple items of
clothing, a bundle of beedies , a box of matches, and a few packets of ganja
. While at work or at rest, and except when sleeping, he would sing
extempore songs of his own composition, which rose spontaneously as a
ow from within, and as a gi from nature. A peculiarity of his style of
lyrics was that if he began singing for example, with a word beginning with
the letter ‘a’, then the rest of the song would only comprise of words starting
with the letter ‘a’. e language was neither chaste Malayalam nor Sanskrit,
but a synthesis of both. For example—“aksharam archana aalinganam
anubhooti anjanvum ahah, ariv aarum aksharam aanu akhilam ”—which
was difficult to interpret. He resembled Yogi Vemana of Andhra Pradesh,
who sang such songs. At the rst hearing, the song would sound absurd,
but an entirely different meaning would emerge upon contemplation on
the words.
He once told me his story, about the beginning of all of this, on an
evening at the village temple ground where we met daily. He narrated,
—“Once I was traveling from Mangalore to Trichur by bus. It was almost
dark. e monsoon was in full swing. In those days I worked as a laborer in
a coffee plantation in Mangalore. All of a sudden there was a ash of
lightning in the sky, followed by the booming sound of a thunder bolt. It
must have descended right upon my head for I totally went out of body
and mind consciousness. e lightning passing through me generated a lot
of heat inside my body my head throbbed from a burning sensation. e
suffocating uneasiness lasted a few minutes and then all of a sudden it
started cooling down. I felt some kind of newness, not of course freshness.
I noted that a few lines in the form of a song just emerged from my lips,
and I started singing loudly on the bus. en onwards I have been singing
songs, which come out spontaneously from within. I never consciously
compose the words or think about the meaning. I just sing or murmur
whenever the waves of exhilaration spring from inside. I feel it must be an
echo of some profound experience which is happening deep inside.” I
wondered about this man who was totally illiterate, and did not even know
how to write his name. I tried to write down his songs, as I felt they were
unusual in meaning and worth transcribing, and who knows who might
bene t from reading them in the future. But he never permitted me to do
so, as he felt this was a sacred offering to Mother Nature and hence should
not be written or printed.
I observed, as has been the tradition with great poet devotees or bhakt
kavi s, that every song ended with the words ‘sreedharan shakti ,’ his mark,
(sabda shata, samaveda, sabdam cha sreedhara shakti . . . ), this is an
example of the concluding line from all of his songs.
Since he sang the word ‘sreedhara ’ in all his songs, I felt this should be
his name, and started calling him by that name. All day long he toiled in
the elds of landlords, and earned just thirty rupees. In the evenings he
would reach the small village tea shop where he would purchase a lot of
‘vadas ’ or deep-fried lentil patties, and distribute them to everybody sitting
there, and even to the dogs and cows. A few poor villagers would await his
arrival every day to avail of the free vadas . From the remaining money he
would purchase two or three bundles of beedies and match boxes, and a
few packets of ganja . en he would buy himself a cup of tea and with a
couple of vadas have that as dinner. Aer bathing at the temple pond or
the small river nearby, he would sit with his beedi bundles and ganja to
begin his evening routine of lling ganja in the beedi and smoke and sing
till late night. I used to sit by him till the temple closed for the night. Every
day I tried to memorize at least one song of his. For this routine of coming
back home late, my mother used to scold me since I had sat near an
antyaja , as well as a known ganja addict, and for eating vadas made in the
village tea shop, which was considered unimaginable transgression by my
so-called higher caste- labeled Nambudiri family.
My friendship with Sreedharan grew deeper with time. ere was
something different and special about his face, words, and deeds.
Sometimes it was difficult for me to analyze or understand his words. One
day it happened that the temple did not open for morning rituals even aer
sunrise. By sunrise the morning pooja was usually over. e temple was
managed by endowment (Devaswam Board) and the priest had not paid
his salary for more than three months. e priest therefore closed the main
gates, keeping the key with him, and did not open the temple in the early
morning as usual. A few villagers including me went to his house and tried
to pacify him in vain. e villagers were even ready to collect money
between them and present it to him as salary. But he was not at all ready to
agree to it. He was adamant that the endowment executive officer must
visit the temple and settle matters. When the talks failed, I had no other
choice but to sit in front of the mandir in dharna declaring ‘fast unto death’
till the re-opening of the temple and resuming of pooja . I sat on a towel
spread as asan in front of the temple east gate, and to my wonder
Sreedharan also sat in dharna at the west gate. Most of the villagers
assembled and started shouting slogans against the endowment and priest.
In the meantime, a few elders from the village went to the town to meet
the Devaswam department authorities to settle the issue. At around 2 pm
they managed to bring the officers to the temple premises and the priest
was also called in to discuss the issue. Aer a few heated arguments
between priest and endowment authorities, and villagers versus priest, the
problem was nally settled. During the whole episode of discussion, I was
chanting some devi stotras (without getting involved in the talks) and
Sreedharan was singing his songs sitting at the western gate. When the
issue was settled, and the priest ready to assume his duties, the village
elders rst asked me to enter into the temple chanting ‘deviyei, devi devi
ammoi . . . ’ For a minute I was silent and then going to the western gate, I
took hold of Sreedharan’s hand, and then hand in hand we came back to
the eastern gate. Even before the villagers could not fathom what was
happening, I entered the temple premises holding Sreedharan’s hand, who
was an antyaja , who was forbidden from entering into temples in those
days, shouting ‘deviyei, devi devi ammoi . . . ’ (Mother Devi, the mother of
all). Now the villagers realized what had happened—a Nambudiri boy
(from a highly respectable Brahmin family) had entered the temple holding
the hand of an antyaja (from a lower caste family). ere was chaos among
the villagers for a few minutes and they were divided in opinion on what
had just happened. I tried arguing with them in a few words to prove my
point that there is no valid yardstick of authentic nature in deciding how
anybody is ‘great’ or ‘small’ in front of the ‘Mother of the Universe’ and that
it was time to change the age-old blind traditions, which had become just a
practice of prejudice by the privileged class. is was the rst successful
social activity I managed to do, and then onwards the temple was thrown
open to all classes of people. e so-called ‘high pro le’ village elders
started treating me as a rebel born in their village to destroy the traditions,
and they even planned to drive me out of the village through their petty,
dirty politics. ey called me a communist, or born demon, or idiot or
whatever name they wanted. But the majority of the villagers who wanted
to walk along with the changing times, were with me.
e days were nearing for my departure to Mookambika in search of the
real ‘Me’. Sreedharan felt very happy when I conveyed to him of my resolve,
that I had decided to move on the ‘path of God.’ On the evening of the day
before my leaving home and the village to lead an ascetic’s life, Sreedharan
and I sat in front of the temple for a long time. He was singing a song about
sanyasis and for the rst time he allowed me to write it down. It was full of
deep philosophy, telling me the dos and don’ts of sanyasa ashram in a
nutshell. e next day Sreedharan gave me a ride to the bus stand on his
bicycle, and bid me farewell. at paper on which I wrote the ‘farewell
song’ was with me till my stay in Rishikesh aer sanyas . When I studied
the Paramahamsa Upanishad during my Rishikesh stay, I wondered how
that illiterate outcaste villager could have had such an effortless grasp of the
so-called classi ed deep details of such an exalted system of our scriptures.
Like any other memory, memories of Sreedharan too have started fading
away into oblivion with me going farther and farther away from my past.
 Once I discussed this with my spiritual brother, Swami Abhayanand, as to
how an illiterate villager was able to possess the knowledge of a scholar
very well-versed in scriptures,’ to which Swamiji said, “Perhaps he may have
been a ‘yoga bhrashta sadhak’ in his previous birth. It is not a matter of
wonder, as such things oen happen in spiritual life. ere are innumerable
instances of such silent saints. In order to gain knowledge, scriptures are
not the only source. Intuition, inspiration and grace can also do the trick.
One should not get entangled in one’s activities, but try to be a witness to
them and understand them. If possible one must try to grasp any
knowledge they deliver by chance. For that we must be vigilant, because it
can happen at any point in time.”
 Death Of An Artist

E
   teenagers would assemble in a small rented room
on the bank of the river. Some of them were painters, some poets
and playwrights, and some were drama artists. ough they came
from different backgrounds, what they had in common connecting them
were poverty and no de nite source of livelihood. None had regular
income, except for a couple of them who worked as elementary school
teachers. ey sometimes staged a few theatrical events in the villages,
enacting plays that either they themselves had written, or plays they
translated from work by famous playwrights.
I too was one among these young men in the ‘glory’ days of my youth,
and had written some poetry as well as translated a few famous plays of
Brecht, Samuel Beckett, Utpal Dutt, and Badal Sarkar into English from the
original languages. Our group with its modern outlook was trying to do
something unique, which is a common tendency in this modern age.
Nobody is willing to carry on the successful establishments of their
forefathers and ancestors, or follow established customs, or complete the
well-meant but un nished work etc. ey only want to add their share of
undigested vomit in the form of opinions and ideas on dharma, religion,
dogmas blah blah . . . blah.
Our group of young men organized plays in that small village as well as in
nearby towns. A few of us were existentialists, a few communists, and few
were neutral, but no one really had any faith in a well-tested or well-
established school of thought. We used to assemble every evening in the
room, and all being birds of the same feather, we shared our pleasures and
pain with each other. e day we received some money from a magazine
for publishing our poetry, play or article, or from sale of a painting, or even
from writing a banner, that day would a cause for celebration. On other
days we would starve, as none of us were attached to our homes or liked to
depend upon them for food. e amount any one of us received for our
respective work would then be spent collectively for purchasing plenty of
kallu and kappa (toddy and tapioca curry), and everybody enjoyed the
food sitting together, either chit-chatting or discussing only art-related
matters.
Occasionally I would earn twenty ve rupees for a poem published in a
local weekly, or rarely a hundred or hundred y for a semi-classical song
or poem broadcast on All India Radio. Another artist received what was
considered a good amount of ve hundred or thousand, upon sale of his oil
paintings. As he had some family commitments, he sent the lion’s share of
his income to his parents in his village.
ose were the days of my youth that seemed wonderful. In my struggle
to establish himself, even though it was for a short period, I spent most of
my time in that company, visiting my home only for a few hours. My own
people spoke ill of me for mingling with young men of different castes, and
for dining with them. But that never bothered me, and I just ignored their
comments.
By that time I had obtained a job as sub-editor for a weekly in a nearby
town, with a daily salary of ten rupees. Five rupees were spent every day on
bus fare to the office and back, and two rupees for food. e chief editor of
that weekly was a well-known activist of the communist party who
introduced me to books by le-leaning authors. I read Marx, Engels, and
such authors. I had now lost touch with the circle of friends from the
previous small town, and many of them had also own far away in search
of greener pastures. I now found myself in the company of editors, movie
directors, critics, and established writers of that time.
One time I received an ‘award’ of two hundred and y rupees for a
poem I entered in a contest organized by another magazine. is was the
rst ‘big’ amount I had received in my life. In fact, I had wanted to
purchase a sari for my oldest sister who loved me more than any other in
the family, even my parents or other elders. In a very happy mood, I went
in search of those remaining from the old group of friends to share the
happy news of the award, and to celebrate my achievement with the usual
kallu and kappa party. My friends told me that this time the regular ‘cheap’
toddy party would not do, and they purchased a bottle of brandy and good
eatables. In an hour or two, all the money had vanished in thin air. I felt
terrible, even cursing myself that I had failed to get a sari of a hundred
rupees for my sister. Sitting alone in the room in a corner, I wept for my
mistake.
Even though he was poor, a well-known lm director happened to be a
close friend during my days as sub-editor. A staunch communist who lived
like a hippy, he had managed to convince a nancier to back his movie, and
with the help of a few friends and well-wishers he had succeeded in it as
well, winning a few international and national awards for his classical work
in cinema. He had a habit of incessantly drinking liquor and smoking ganja
, and moved around carelessly with others, but was a gem of an artist in the
eld, because of his unique perspective on life and his work. But the
relentless onslaught of time makes no exceptions, even for one possessing
unusual, unimaginable, and incomparable intelligence or talent. e dictate
is that as long as you live on this planet earth, you have to follow the rules
of an orderly life, or else pay through your nose. He paid little heed to
orderliness in life, and time too did not grant him any respite either for
escaping, and took him away from the eld of art, and from the friends
who loved him. ey cursed him plenty in choicest words of lth, because
they did not understand that time knows not the value of art, and neither
does an artist know the value of life. His intelligence had not helped him in
any way to make his life orderly. A few days later, when one of his lms
was released, he was appreciated with many awards and he and his friends
were deep in enjoyment celebrating his award money in a hotel’s terrace
garden. Swinging in intoxication, he had sat on the parapet wall on the
third oor of the hotel and fell to his death. I was not there on the spot, but
heard of the news through the media, and was unable to even react for a
few days, such was the shock. It was a big struggle to recover from that
unexpected loss.
In the meantime, the weekly in which I was working as an editor went
into a very bad nancial crisis, even ghting for existence. e management
nally decided to end the publication, and I thus lost my job and had to
return to the village, or rather back to the wall. My disposition had changed
too during the past few years due to change of social groups. I was no more
in a mood to return to that old group of remaining artistes in the town.
Even when I did so rarely, it was to attend a few programs they arranged.
By this time I had translated a few plays into English, from the Bengali and
German originals, and myself authored a collection of one-act plays, that
was compiled and published. I kept myself, or rather liked to remain
con ned to a room in my old home in the parental village, limiting my
activities to reading or writing, or to simply sitting in the agonizing darkness
of that hundred-year old house, most of the time brooding in melancholy.
A group of friends in the village decided to form a group, and try their
hand at staging the small plays I had written. We began staging small plays,
based on contemporary social issues as themes. ose plays were based
mostly on folk art, exploring possibilities of presenting pressing social issues
in a simple way, minimizing makeup and expenses by using traditional
formats. Our youth group comprised of my good friends, or distant
relatives from my parental village. It was during this period that the sea
change occurred. Whether it was the tepid response to my much-labored
work, or whether it was destiny that did not wish me to indulge and
entangle myself in meaningless and unproductive activities for which I was
not meant—but the heat of repeated defeats in undertakings began at last
shaping my inclinations into spiritual ones, into being a dwija (twice-born).
e dwija -oriented impressions were now starting to surface and manifest,
overpowering the erstwhile earned samskaras . Naturally and without any
effort, I was being drawn to spirituality and identifying myself more and
more with it. I had failed at staging my plays, because the future had
already written a different script for me to act in. How could I possibly
succeed with my Director being the much more powerful play-writer?
When I recollect the turns He made me take in life, I cannot but pay Him
tribute with my tears. My tears of gratitude are the only price I can pay in
return for the unconditional and immeasurable grace that has showered
upon me, for His driving me into sanyasa , the only true and real life
anyone could aspire for. is became clear to me only aer I started seeing
things of this world in the light of His grace. at life of a playwright or
director did not last long, and nally abandoning life as an artist, I decided
to leave home and village to play the role of a beggar on His stage, the
world. And as per His script, I am playing and enjoying it to my heart’s
content. Certainly the art or artist in me died, but as the obedient actor of
my wonderful Master, I was transformed into an eternal artist. ereaer I
stopped acting in the drama of the world, for He placed me under His
eternal contract. I love to dance to His tunes, and I love to deliver the
dialogs written by Him. I act, and He is the lone spectator. We are just the
world.
 To Know Is To Be

I
   an easy task for a disciple to stay with his guru for long,
unless he is willing to dissolve his limited ego into the limitless ego of
the gurutatva , especially during the training periods. Otherwise his
limited ego will revolt at every step, preventing the saadhana from taking a
de nite shape. Once the disciple allows his own laghutvam (limitedness) to
merge with the gurutvam (limitless, expanded state) of the guru, it will
annihilate and remove the boundaries of ego, his life now owing easily
between the two banks, of disciplines of this world and of the world he
wants to attain. But for this to happen, the disciple must undergo vigorous
training with utmost vigilance. Of course, if he understands that this
tedious training is only for the advancement of his own future spiritual life,
then the difficulties involved in the training will not make him lose heart.
But instead, if he gives more importance to ego obeying its commands, then
he will likely end up in regret, cursing and saying something like—“Oh,
why have I given control to an unknown person, who keeps imposing more
and more of meaningless rules and regulations.”
Life with a guru is like walking on a razor’s edge. e quantity and quality
of merits earned in our previous births decide the nature of the life with
our guru. As the scriptures say, one gets a guru only because of one’s poorva
janma sukrutham (previous meritorious deeds) and only that can lead him
to liberation, and free him from the clutches of the cycle of rebirth.
If one’s mother and father are to be considered the rst gurus, it follows
then that the spiritual guru must be an advanced and improved
combination of both mother and father roles. But ever since the invasion of
certain sensual elements in society, which made enjoyment the primary
goal of life, and which cooked up the theory that spirituality and world are
distinct and separate, spirituality has become the enemy of the
householder’s life. It has now become the norm to think of spiritual life and
worldly life as two non-intersecting and separate spheres.
Since the past 900 years, gurus have been separated from mother and
father. When the father and mother receive the rank of guru they are
happy, but when a real guru is brought in, they grow fearful of losing their
own importance. When I le my home village as a young innocent boy to
live with my guru, I was not educated (and these days no one is) about the
true relationship between a seeker and his guru, and unaware of the
dangerous pitfalls involved. It is only the guru who can be real mother and
father—only when we get a guru do we actually ‘take birth’ and nd our
ultimate mother and father.
Since no one’s parents want to lose their offspring, the donkey who will
work to realize their own broken dreams and unful lled ambitions in the
future, the parents choose to totally black out the guru from life. We are
not aware of the consequences of this black-out philosophy. A famous
example is that of the parents of Gautama Buddha. e parents of post-
independent India seem to be comfortable with the possibility that their
son may turn out to be a liar, cheat, rowdy, pervert, drug or sex addict, and
may even enable and support his ventures. But the same parents become
sleepless with worry if the son displays an interest in spirituality. at is
what happened with me as well.
I was raised with an extroverted and materialistic vision of the
environment, parents, brothers, sisters, and friends. I did not have enough
lessons in guru shishya sambandha . It was only aer my initiation that this
changed. When I began living with my guru, who I addressed as ‘Amma ’,
and ONLY BECAUSE OF GOD’S GRACE, I came to realize the meaning of
love. I experienced my guru in all roles of friend, brother, sister, father and
more than all as mother. e love and affection I enjoyed from ‘Amma ,’
surpassed what I had experienced from my own parents. I was still in the
tender and impressionable teen years then, foolhardy and with naive
expectations of life. Worldly relationships which had been fed to me
(taught) to me by this world were really hollow in meaning. But when I
joined her, my guru, a world by herself—it was in her that I saw the real
world, the Universal family.
 As stated in the rst part of my autobiography, I lived with my Guruji or
Amma , in the dense forests of Kollur, not far from the famous
Mookambika temple in the South Indian state of Karnataka. In those days,
Amma camped under a big tree in the forest, a few yards’ walk aer one
crossed the Sauparnika River. It was always dark there due to the dense
vegetation, and day and night didn’t seem too different. e lush greenery
and unpolluted air made for a most inviting and elevating environment, my
only source of anxiety being the wild animals. Once aer reading the fear
in my mind, Amma said, “Fear them not—love them, and they will love
you too. Love every being and you will be loved, hate and you will be
hated.” I learnt the lexicon of love and affection from her. In the nights we
stayed only under the tree. Amma slept carefree, not bothered by the ants
or insects or even by the odd scorpion and snake that sometimes visited our
‘bedroom’ beneath the tree under the open skies. But before getting ready
to lay down to sleep just near Amma’s holy feet, I used to clean the ground
there, every day. She would watch this with a wry smile, then nally one
day said, “If you must clean, why not clean up the entire Earth, and not
just this six-foot piece of land that you are using for your pleasure.” I was a
bit taken aback at rst, but aer that remark, I stopped cleaning that spot
near Amma. Never did even a small ant bite me, nor was there ever any
disturbance from a forest creatures either.
For ages, the Sauparnika River has been revered as a teertham (a holy
bathing place) by devotees visiting Mookambika. ey carry away its holy
water in containers to keep in their homes. And as other people living there
do, we too used it. It is a small but elegant and beautiful river owing down
the Kudajadri Hill (where Adi Shankara had done tapas to bring her down
from the top of the hills). We would be at the river for our daily ablutions,
bathing, drinking etc. Whenever we went down there to bathe, I would
wash Amma’s ‘alphi ,’ which was the only cloth she wore, and give her a
good bath as well. She taught me a saadhana that involved sitting in neck-
deep water. Fish would bite at my body while I sat for long periods in the
river doing my japa , with no body consciousness. Once Amma said, “at
is good. ey (the sh) are getting something to eat. Be there. Similarly
when you enter samsara, make your body useful for the welfare of others.
is was the way of her training. An avadhoota must be carefree about his
body and not have any attachment to it, as it is merely an instrument of
service to others. She inspired me with the courage and ability to serve with
no self-interest or sense of ownership of body, even when it was suffering
acutely.
Once a shop owner, who was running a small teashop near the
Mookambika temple, came crying to Amma. His business was doing poorly,
the shop was in shambles, and he was sunk in debt. For some time Amma
kept silent. One evening Amma asked me to follow her, and entering the
dilapidated shop, she went into the kitchen. She started urinating in front
of the wood stove (in those days rewood was used), and as if nothing had
happened, she started walking out. I felt very uncomfortable at this
behavior but dared not ask her for reasons behind her action, in fear of
getting a few blows from her walking stick. But I was astounded when aer
a few months that shop keeper visited Amma to convey with gratitude that
everything had turned around. His business had gained momentum and
improved hugely right aer Amma’s visit, and he had now constructed a
permanent structure. He had brought a few daal vadas but Amma did not
accept them and said, “Never offer a bribe or pay for the favors received
from me. Just toss the vadas into the Sauparnika, and let the shes lunch
well today.” For a human being living in today’s computer age, such things
appear absurd, but keep in mind this: what science can see and offer to the
world is in nitesimal. ere are fourth-dimensional activities of people like
Amma, whose actions, words, and movements cannot be brought under
scienti c scrutiny. But each word, gesture, action, and movement coming
from an elevated soul such as Amma is always result-oriented. Any
prejudiced scientist attempting to decipher or codify actions of such souls
will be making futile efforts in vain.
Even an Arjuna needed to demonstrate his achievements by winning the
Mahabharata 8 war. Aer staying with Amma for about six months as a
sanyasi , my mind started comparing the life of a householder with that of
a sanyasi . Amma had never let me feel unloved, her love was divine rather
than worldly. Yet I had been feeling some listlessness, and yearned to see
my parents in my native village. It may have been homesickness, and
perhaps a desire to show them my exalted state as a sanyasi . Amma
observed my mood and asked, “What is going on in your mind?” I told her
of my intention to visit my parents but she laughed at my foolishness, and
asked, “Do you realize what you are saying, my boy? Aer leaving home
and parents to become a sanyasi (I have only just initiated you into sanyasa
) one is not supposed to look back or meet them, as there are chances to
develop attachments.” I was not aware of this. But being an ignorant youth,
my mind was disturbed from thinking of my village and parents. I was
sitting near Amma under the big tree that was our shelter, when she called
me near her and embracing me said, “My son, you have had millions of
parents in previous births, do you remember them or cry for them? is
sanyasa is verily a new birth to you. Being a ‘sarva sanga parityagi ,’ a
sanyasi should never look back, homeward. Look! I am here as your
mother, father, brother, sister, friend and guru. I am everything to you
here, worry not anymore. Kill that very thought with the sword of asanga .”
But I was in tears, trying in vain to control them. Amma then said, “Look
here at me, and wipe out your tears.” I looked up at her, and there was no
limit to my wonder—standing before me was the mother who had given
birth to me! I was lost in deep silence, and then fell down at her holy feet,
holding them for a long time. With a laugh Amma said, “Foolish boy, I will
be with you forever and ever. Do not cry any more. Remember, none is
yours other than me. Be with me, I will always be with you.” It has been
only that assurance of Amma that has kept me living through this painful
life of bitter experiences and serious illnesses.
e ways of teaching of my guru to her sishya were different. She never
lectured to me, but taught me by pin-pointing practical ways of doing
things, which I had to observe, study, and apply to my life. As she doted on
me, she would never allow me to go to collect bhiksha (daily food), and she
would bring it from the temple herself and feed me with her own hands.
When she brought the bhiksha, she would do the pancha maha yagna of
rst feeding the ants, birds etc., then me and only then would she herself
eat (detailed description given in the volume 1 of my autobiography). With
that wonderful experience, I learned the lesson not to eat anything without
sharing rst (yagna ). Continuing to this day, I follow the same practice of
taking food only aer feeding all—servants, guests, disciples etc. during all
programs convened in the ashram .
During one heavy monsoon season during my days by the Sauparnika,
the river was over owing and it became impossible to cross. We sat
drenched under that big tree in the open with no shelter other than sky. It
continued to rain throughout the night. Looking at the river I worried how
we would go to the other side to collect bhiksha. e rain nally stopped,
and the sun came out but the earth as well as the trees were soaked. I was
shivering a little because of drenching through the night.
Amma walked over twice to the Sauparnika to see if the water ow had
reduced or not. e oods would usually come as a ash as the water
coming from the hills moved downward quickly. It seemed impossible to
cross the river as the ow of water was in full strength. I was feeling hungry
too. I could hear the temple bell inviting bhikshus and yatris to collect their
due of bhiksha . My Guruji glanced my face and shivering body. She looked
around, put her hands in the tin dabba in which she collected food for us
from temple. I knew that it would be empty since she washed it every day
aer we ate. But to my amazement, she took out four bananas from it and
gave me three, keeping one. She asked me to eat and held on to the one
banana she had in her hand till I had nished eating the three bananas,
and as soon as I was done, she crushed the banana in her hand and put it
back into her tin dabba .
I was wondering, and did not understand what was happening. By now
my stomach was full, but I felt bad that Amma had not eaten the banana
which had been in her hand. I looked into the tin box, and was astonished
to discover that it was now empty! Months later, when I was getting ready
to leave her for tapas in the Himalayas, Amma taught me how to
accomplish this feat, if food ever became unavailable, or in an emergency
for survival.
Gurus will never allow their children to suffer mentally, physically or in
any other way, being dearer to the guru than prana itself. Disciples may
receive scolding or an occasional beating for wrong doings, but really only
for their own bene t in both materialistic and spiritual life. From lack of
maturity or poor intellectual capacity, we disciples may foolishly and
ignorantly jump to conclude that the guru must be un t, seeing him or her
always in a negative mood. It is important to keep open our eyes and be
attentive, so as not to miss the lessons being imparted.
It is unwise for someone to attempt to fathom or appraise a guru with a
mind ill-trained in well-established, well-tested, and proven methods of
investigative logic, or knowledge of human behavior and evolution.
Supporting an ignorant and arrogant mind is like supporting our own evil
Duryodhana 9 -like son, just because he happens to be our son. Such a
Duryodhana will not only not let us live in peace, but will also destroy all
our ‘ancestors’, or our poorva punya (accumulated merits), a two-fold loss.
e adventure of estimating the guru is like trying to measure the ocean
with a spoon, or using one’s ngers to count the stars in the sky or like
measuring the earth with a broken yardstick. It takes the disciple to an
oblivion of non-belief or half-belief, a state of doubt that is verily
destruction (samshayatma vinashyati) which will result in a series of hell-
like, helpless existences (births) of negative experiences. e scriptures say,
‘vishwaasam (belief) bala daayakam (strength provider)’—only a staunch
belief in the guru and application of the teachings can take anyone to
realization. e sishya or disciple should take care lest the bacteria of doubt
infect the element of faith in him. Maintaining that faith is itself a full time
job for a sadhaka. at faith should be like the breath in the body. I would
like to part my experience with such a situation in my life as an ardent
sadhak, but prone to ever ready misleading, misguiding, exploitative, and
manipulative elements, energies, powers, and factors around.
I had been standing on the banks of the river Sauparnika for a long time,
looking into some incomprehensible void without any outward
consciousness. When I came back to awareness, it was about sunset. Amma
used to go near the Mookambika temple oen—it was her practice to
paying obeisance from outside the temple, in consonance with her state of
awareness. On such walks in the evening, she never took anyone with her,
and would ask me to be at the riverside doing japa or dhyana . On one
such visit, a person from the Sri Ramakrishna Yogashram came running to
me saying that someone had tried to hurt Amma with a stick. I
immediately ran fast towards where Amma was sitting.
She was sitting by the roadside just holding her right hand with her le.
When I asked what happened she simply smiled. A few people were
standing around, and from their facial expressions I could easily make out
that something vile had happened. But Amma did not say anything even
though I kept pressing her. One among the people standing there said,
“Swamiji, Amma was trying to take a few bananas to feed the old cow
standing on the other side of the road, but the shopkeeper hurt her with a
stick.” Amma used to take bananas or anything she pleased, from the shops
to give to cows, dogs or to children moving around the road. Never
previously had any of the shopkeepers objected, denied, or resisted her
actions, as all knew very well that her mere presence near their shop would
be like a great benediction or blessing on them. In fact they would be
thrilled as they knew business would shoot up with such doings of Amma.
It seemed that this shop was new and the shopkeeper was unaware of
Amma’s way of doing things with others. I got wildly angry, and felled the
shopkeeper with a few blows. Amma came running to stop me from doing
so, but by this time people standing there had lied him from the road.
ey showed me his right hand which had gone stiff like a log of wood.
One of them said, “As soon as this man hit Amma, his hand got paralyzed.
Now he is not able to move it.” e shopkeeper was crying out to her to
pardon his mistake. My anger was not coming down. In fact I wanted to
thrash him further. Amma was annoyed with me and said, “Why are you
bent on punishing this poor shopkeeper- aer all it was only a natural
reaction. See his hand!” She seemed unperturbed, as if nothing had
happened. Unmindful of her own hands, and with all ‘karuna bhava ’
Amma went to the shopkeeper, and taking his hands in her hand,
massaged them gently and lovingly, then said, “All this happened on
account of a few bananas, which I wanted to feed that hungry cow. Go
now and feed that cow a few bananas, and keep doing it every day, you
will soon be all right.” He obeyed, taking a bunch of bananas and fed the
cow. From that day onwards I heard he was doing it without fail, as if it
were an order from Amma. His hand had become normal now. Just one
day’s forbearance made the shopkeeper a devotee. I oen argued with
Amma about such actions of hers, like liing eatables from shops and
feeding them to others. Her logic was rather unusual and profound,
“Nothing is personal or can be owned by anyone in this world. Everything
belongs only to the One Iswara . Anyone unwilling to share with his fellow
beings or with needy persons, materials such as food or clothing that really
belong to Him (hoarding because of greed), will surely suffer and be reborn
as well to live a life of suffering. So my act was in order to help create this
awareness in that man, and to bring him out from his illusion. None of you
could understand that I only do such acts to others for bettering their lives.”
I felt ashamed that I had not understood the secret of the vision behind my
Guruji’s actions.
 Once one of the families in Mookambika, who were Amma’s staunch
devotees, invited her home for bhiksha . Usually Amma never accepted
such invitations, subsisting only on the food distributed in the temple for
sadhus and yatris . But to my astonishment, she graciously accepted this
invitation and asked me to follow her too.
ey had prepared a meal t for royalty with all devotion (rice, sambaar ,
curry, paapad etc.). Aer serving the meal on a plantain leaf, they prayed
that Amma should commence eating. But to my wonder, she mixed
together all the food on the leaf, and divided it into ve portions. She then
made the usual whistling sound and then who knew from where they had
appeared, but a dog, cat, and crow came into the dining room. Giving them
their share of food, she then took one portion outside to feed a calf waiting
there. She re-entered the room, and then lastly gave the h part to the
Brahmin who had served the food on the leaf. From the expression on the
Brahmin’s face, it was clear that he did not appreciate this action, especially
since the dog had eaten directly from Amma’s plantain leaf. Amma asked
him to share his portion equally among his wife and other family members,
and he did so.
Aer this was over, she then sat near me and instructed me to begin
meditation, “Sit there and meditate. Don’t move.” More than two hours
passed thus. My mind was gripped with the desire to drink some water.
Finally she asked me to get up and follow her. When we reached the bank
of the Sauparnika, Amma gave me a big kick from behind, and I fell
headlong into the river. I heard her, “Drink, drink as much as you can. So
that in the future there should be no thirst at all during your saadhana .”
Without drinking even a drop of water I emerged from the river and came
up to Amma, tears over owing my eyes. Amma said, “Bete , during
saadhana never yield to other diverting thoughts that try to enter. Hunger,
thirst etc. are all only mind’s play, in order to keep you in body
consciousness. Forgetting body, mind and intellect, try to be just a witness
to what is happening. Never make a pretence of saadhana. Let it happen,
and be a witness.”
She had taught me this valuable lesson in a very practical but unusual
way, the memory of which will always be evergreen.
8 e Mahabharata, one of the two major epics of ancient Indian written in Sanskrit language, is a
narrative of the major war between the Kaurava and Pandava princes. Arjuna was one of the ve
Pandava princes and Duryodhana was one of the one hundred Kaurava princes. e famous
Bhagvad Gita was imparted to Arjuna by Krishna.
9 Duryodhana is a villainous character in the epic Mahabharatha.
 The Use And Throw Guruji

T
   of being an escapist. ey said I was a runaway
from samsara , afraid to face worldly life with all its minus and plus
points. Some of those ‘lion-hearted’ people, or rather ‘loin-hearted’
people (who were in samsara from the urging of their loins) said I was
un t for married life. Some insinuated that I had taken to sanyasa due to a
failed love affair. Everybody had his own story to tell about me,
commensurate with the level of reach of his consciousness. eir preaching
and comments, edited and updated regularly, and unsolicited advice and
criticism, were devoid of any true value. I waited, and waited for long to
prove to these people who I really was. It took more than thirty years to
show them my real face—the face of an avadhoota , who lives always only
for the sake of others, in every moment and breath. Finally when they read
my previous book, my autobiography, ‘e Pyre of the Destined,’ then of
course some of them changed their minds and called me up to say, “Sorry,
we were late in realizing your real face.” It took more than thirty years for
my life to unfold to that point. As to the circumstances of the unfolding—
the what, why, when and where: it involved living in bitter hardship in the
Himalayan hills, most oen with nothing to eat except for Ganga water,
and with the barest minimum of clothing and shelter. It involved intense
‘tapas ’ in deep silence for years and years, till the reaching of the ultimate
reality. I returned, lled with energy, to ful ll the wishes of the people who
were deep in samsara . Now all of them, whose ‘wills’ and wishes have
been ful lled because of that accumulated energy of mine, are keeping
silent. I have had so many such experiences with people—people who have
‘used’ my energy to ful ll their needs, and then thrown me out of their
lives, is this not true?
During my stay at Kurnool, in Andhra Pradesh, a disciple came to me one
morning, accompanied by his weeping wife. I was engaged in pooja at the
time. Getting up from pooja , I asked them the reason for their gloom. e
disciple told me that his wife’s brother had met with an accident while
driving his car, and was in serious condition. Without a second thought, as
I always did in such situations I decided to go with them to see the
suffering person and pray to the ‘Mother’ for his well-being. I took a
banana which had been offered to ‘Amma’ during my pooja and le my
room with them.
His body was fully broken, and the doctors were not hopeful of him
returning to normalcy. I requested permission from the attending physician
to touch the patient and offer him the prasadam of banana which I had
brought. e patient was surrounded by his wife, children and other
relatives. I asked them to keep a distance, and except for his wife and
another relative, everyone else then le the room. Touching the patient, I
prayed to my Guruji and to the ‘Mother Goddess’ to save him so there
would be no tears on the faces of his wife and children. I fed him a little
part of the prasadam and le the room.
In the evening I received a call from his wife who in an elated voice
informed me that the patient, who was to have had an unexpected demise,
was now sitting up and drinking tea. Aer some time, the attending doctor
also called me up and asked, “What in heaven’s could be the reason for this
miraculous recovery?” I told them that these were not miracles. If one had
staunch faith and strong belief in ‘Amma’ such things naturally happened.
But the doctor was not one to buy my story—he needed irrefutable,
scienti c, step-by-step explanation of this incident. I told him, “See, that
man was suffering. Sufferings are the result of negative actions. I had
transferred into him some of the accumulated positive earnings of my
positive actions, from my long saadhana in the Himalayan hills. us the
negativity in that suffering person was totally removed through the
positivity I poured in, in my act of touching him. It is as simple as a glassful
of water changing to milk—when one continues to pour milk into the glass,
aer some time the water will change to milk. But for this, the healer must
have a heavy stock of positive energy. en the doctor countered with
another question, “Swamiji, when you are healing a person who is suffering
because of his ‘karmas ’, are you not going against the laws of nature?” I
replied, “Yes, of course, it is. But I am here to weigh the utility of that
person to his family, society, nation etc. against my use to society. As he is
more useful to his family and to the society through his physical body than
I am, I made the choice of transferring energy. I am ‘useless’ to society in
this physical body, since my work arena is in the astral planes where this
physical body is totally useless. Moreover being in that transcendental state,
I do not have a family setup wherein I could have channelized energies
towards a higher purpose. So the energy conserved in my physical body can
be used for a genuine, needy, and deserving person. In going against the
laws of karma, since I am taking his ‘karma phalas ’ upon myself, I have to
suffer for as long a time as that person was supposed to suffer.” Laws of
nature are not changed but something is paid from outside as a helping
hand. To perform my duties, the physically accumulated energy is
immaterial. Moreover I hope you know that no energy can be saved. Just
like electricity cannot saved, if you do not use it, it will go to waste. Money,
mind, and time all like that too. My logic is not to waste the accumulated
positive energy at the time of my death.” e doctor was silent for a few
minutes at hearing this and murmured, “It is difficult to understand people
like you.” e big issue with the scienti c education that is spoon-fed to
today’s youth is that they appoint themselves as the all-knowing custodians
of society, when actually they are mere pawns in the hands of the distant
capitalists who are greedy, corrupt and anti-humanitarian by nature. e
youth of today are all being driven by the greed of the perverted
industrialists, in the name of good salary.
I suffered for eighteen months as a result of that karmic transfer. e
person was discharged from hospital in a week or so aer having recovered
fully contrary to everyone’s expectations. But then onwards I started
suffering with back pain, body ache, and other symptoms and syndromes.
at person did develop a faith in God, and in the existence of an invisible
power governing the universe, and in me, of course, and became my
disciple.
A few such people are however avasarvadis —hardcore opportunists, or
victims of greed due to their new exposure to wealth, with hearts of clay.
ey used to come to me, make use of and exploit me, or spiritual entities
like me with hearts of butter, looking for us in temples, pilgrimage centers
etc. en they would run away from the scene once and for all. is came
to light when a few years later, we were considering starting a project for
rehabilitation of street children and economically deprived children. For
their medical and educational needs, and for providing them nutritious
food and other essentials, I was working hard to generate the resources and
necessary funds. To kickstart the project, the plan was to construct at least a
few thatched sheds for the time being. ough in the gurative sense, I was
dancing on the streets singing the songs of the poor, all these people who
had bene ted from me, clapped their hands and enjoyed the dance but
never thought of dropping a single penny into my desperate begging bowl.
At last, the same few disciples who have all along been with me in all my
foolish endeavors, pulling me back from the quicksand of social service,
now came forward to create a ‘trust’, an organization which is now taking
care of the project. I had been running here and there, and ‘pick-pocketing’
my disciples for amounts to face the needs. I now requested the very same
person, who had got a new lease on life thanks to me and the Mother, to
also donate a little to the Trust to meet the construction needs according to
his ability. He very politely and diplomatically told the treasurer of the trust
that he would de nitely donate a good amount. But to my surprise,
nothing has been delivered to date. e work is now complete and the
work of rehabilitation of the poor commenced in small scale but that ‘rich’
man never turned up, nor even enquired about it, in fear of being asked to
donate something for his downtrodden brethren of society. When I think
of people like him, the only conclusion I can make is that they are really
contributing in some way to the work of nature, by adding to the burden of
sins so that Kaliyuga comes to an end earlier than expected.
ough this was not a demonstration of a lack of sense of gratitude, it
de nitely showed how human beings attach an enormous importance to
money. If I gave you a 500 rupee note, you will de nitely value it and may
say, “Oh, my Guruji has given me 500 rupees.” You might go around saying
you received such an amount from Guruji as prasadam . But you may not
have the intelligence to value the aashirvadam or the help given to you in
the form of spiritual energy. is lack of appreciation is because you
yourself have no knowledge about the mechanism of obtaining such
energy. So how could you respect or feel that invisible energy accumulated
by Guruji through long years of tapasya? You may casually say that you
recovered by the ashirvad of Guruji, but without really understanding the
meaning of that aashirvadam . e materialists have taught us to value
money as the only higher energy but it is not so. Money is the last corrupt
energy in this creation beyond which no corruption exists. So one should
not make the blunder of assigning ultimate value to money among all
energies. e power to bestow aashirvadam accumulates from living a life
of saadhana , while money is accumulated by wasting the life through years
and years of lies used for your sel sh purposes.
P.S.: As soon as I completed this chapter, a few of my disciples heard a
reading of it and raised a relevant question through one among them.
“Guruji, tell us, are you expecting something in return when you do such
sevas for others? If so, is it not hypocrisy?” is was a genuine question. In
reply I said it was not done out of expectation but was an effort to create
another aashirvad -giver like me for the coming generation. Since this body
will not be available to the coming generation, I have to nd someone else
possessing capacity for the same kind of tapas, and teach him how to
acquire the same aashirvad -providing energy to deliver to his
contemporary society. When a hen lays an egg, you have to feed and take
care of her, and wait for the next day to collect the next egg. If in a hurry
however you cut open the hen to get that egg, you will lose all eggs in that
one act. So I expect that you people will join together to prepare someone
to become a sadhak , tapasvi , or sadhu , so that he will be able to bless
your children in the way that I have tried to bless you wholeheartedly. If
you destroy the system itself, then who will be there to make your children
aware of possibility of aashirvads , blessings etc. So other than expecting
you to keep the system intact for the future, I had no expectations from
anybody when I did seva . I studied, digested, and was trained well in the
practice of the dictum, ‘karmanye vadhikarsthey, ma phaleshu kadachana ’
of the Bhagawad Gita, as early as the tenth class. Also ‘give and take’ is the
law of nature. When you accept some favors from someone, don’t you
repay him? If you cut the tree aer you have eaten its fruit, what will your
children then do—will they have to now plant a new tree in order to eat
fruit? If so, they will no more be bound to call you their parents or honor
you. You will not deserve any divinity, having created a situation like the
law of the jungle. Hence, think not only just about getting blessings for
yourself, but arrange some similar system of seva serving others to save
yourself from the grip of the hands of runa . If I really had been aer
money as you esteemed souls seem to think, by this time I would have
been at least a crorepati , married to a Keralite damsel, with chubby
children to play with. But I have never cared to hoard the papers of the
Reserve Bank. So I expect that one thing from all of you in return. I am
sure you people will not like your children going childless, and for me too it
is painful to see the sanyasi system going extinct, for then the curse of rishis
will be upon me and on you all too. So just observe my day-to-day life, try
to analyze my words and deeds, and then decide and conclude for yourself
what it means to you in your life. is is all the explanation I can offer.”
at disciple sat quietly for some time and said, “Sorry that such a thought
came to me, it was from ignorance. Now it is clear to me. Sorry for
doubting you.” I said that lack of awareness, and ignorance of something
were entirely different things. If you are unaware of certain things,
awareness will be provided and the previous mistakes pardoned. But if you
argue ignorance to escape your mistakes, the punishment will be
compounded: this law must be kept in mind for all religious and spiritual
matters. Lest one day you be forced to pay through the nose for simple
oversights.
 Where You Are, There I Am

T
   Mookambika were densely vegetated and replete
with different kinds of wild animals, snakes, and birds, all the
ingredients of a wilderness. e river Sauparnika ows between the
small temple village and this dense forest, separating them. ere exists no
habitat of permanent nature in that forest, and few people other than a few
meditating sadhakas , or a few nature-loving pilgrims. It was early in the
morning, and the temple bells were yet to ring to invite the devotees for the
aarathi darshan . Aer completing my daily routine of bathing etc., I was
awaiting dawn. I was sitting on the bank of the Sauparnika across from the
temple, thought-free, not meditating but immersed in myself. I could see
Amma (my beloved Guruji, Avadhoota Taramayee) on the other side of the
river looking towards me as if beckoning me. By re ex I crossed the river
and reached hurriedly towards her but to my surprise she started walking
away in long strides as if escaping from me. She turned in the direction of
the shukla theertham and I too followed her.
Amma then sat down on a stone near the shukla theertham, remaining
silent, and I too followed like an obedient dog sitting near its master. Yes, I
was always content to be that, though never did she regard me that way
like a rough master might treat his dog, but always doted on me, pouring
her affection with a gentle look or a tender touch, and fed me like a loving
mother. Suddenly Amma spoke—“Ab tum sanyasi hogaye na, mera peecha
chodkar door jao. ” (Now that you are a sanyasi, you must quit following me
and you must move away, far from here). It was a shock to hear those
words, how could that be? Why was Amma repeatedly asking me to leave
her? Perhaps reading my mind she said—“Yei, tum ko jaana hei. Door kahin
jaakar apni saadhana karo. ” (Yes, you have to leave and continue doing
saadhana , but far away from here). I desperately tried to convince Amma
with tears in my eyes that I was not in a position to leave her. She replied
saying, “Rona dhona sab bevakoo hei. Aaj nahi to kal tum ko jaana hee hei.
Jitni jaldi ho sakey apane pairon par khada hokar dikhao, vahi meri iccha
hei.” (All this weeping and lamentation is foolishness. One day or the other,
of course you will be leaving me, my only desire is that you stand on your
two legs and become independent as soon as possible). And actually at one
point I did entertain many thoughts of the Himalayas, even wanting to go
there, but those had been the moods and fancies of a novice sadhaka, and
they had all gone with the winds aer my long stay with Amma. I was like
a six-month old babe in these days, not wanting to leave Amma even for a
few minutes. When she had given me everything I needed—love that of a
mother, discipline that of a father, affection that of a brother, sister, or
friend, and the mentoring of a guide, how would it be possible for me to
leave her? For Amma was everything to me, at every moment. She stood
up, and moving swily like a whirlwind, vanished into the woods. I wanted
to get up and run behind her, but it was as if someone had chained my legs
—it was impossible for me to get up or move. I was not aware how many
hours I sat thus, as I slowly began losing external consciousness. Neither
meditating, nor in deep sleep or dreaming, I was aware of the being of the
‘Self.’ I was experiencing the song of silence inside me vibrating all around,
forming the echo of omkara from within. I was not visualizing anything in
that state, nor as a witness, but was in the depth of experiencing a scene
enacted by me. Around me hovered hundreds of people with faces
identical to mine. ey all appeared to be carrying a stretcher-like thing
made of bamboo, like the one that Hindus use to carry a dead body to the
cremation ground. I looked around—everybody had the same face as mine.
Some of them then came forward, lowered the stretcher near me and
liing my body on it, placed it on the stretcher and tied it with some rope-
like thing. e others who were like my replicas in roopa (form) and bhava
(devotion), started to dance around me who was laying down on that
chariot. Now the scene abruptly changed to one of darkness, where those
hundreds of my replicas were now dancing wildly holding aming country
torches. e thaalam or rhythm sounded familiar, it was the thaalam of
dissolution, wild and furious, of drums beating all around me. en just as
suddenly, everything stopped, and there was the deepest silence with
nobody near. I was clueless and baffled at this experience, when suddenly I
felt the comforting touch of a palm rolling over my head. I knew it must
belong to none other than my Amma who had affectionately caressed my
head for a few seconds. And there was not even a trace of the entire
incident: I was still sitting at the same spot, shukla theertham, where I had
been sitting since dawn.
I glanced around to nd Amma sitting nearby on the same stone, looking
at me. I was wondering and groping for an explanation as to what had just
happened a few seconds before and looked to her face questioningly.
Amma said, “Onnumilla, oru anubhavam maatram, nee peydikkanda, nee
evide undo, njanum avide undu ” (at was nothing but an experience and
there is no need to be afraid—for wherever you nd yourself, I shall also be
present). I was not satis ed with her answer and needed more explanation.
But the temple bells were ringing inviting sadhus and pilgrims for collecting
prasaadam and so Amma picked up her tin container and stood up to
move towards the temple. I remained there, lost in thought, trying to
interpret my experience. Seeing this, with a smile Amma asked if I had got
anything out of those visuals. I pouted and shook my head. Amma giggled
a little and asked me to repeat whatever I had visualized just a while ago.
Composing myself, I slowly recounted them in sequence. She then started
her explanation, asking me, “Tell me how many you’s, did you see in the
visuals?” I replied,

1. e rst me was on the pyre.

2. e second me—there were a lot of me’s dancing.
3. e third me was watching the other two me’s—the one on the
pyre, and the many who were dancing around.
4. e fourth one who was witnessing all the other three me’s.

“Exactly!” Amma exclaimed and said, “Yes, that is indeed what you saw—
the four you’s of ‘you’. What this implies then my boy, is that the rst ‘you’
laying on the pyre was your body in which the ignorance was living till
now. It is now dead. Secondly, the many you’s dancing around were all the
impressions of the previous births that want to re-enter the body, but
unable to do so. ey were trying to make the physical body get life again,
but failing. e third ‘you’ watching all these, was the liberated ‘you’ aer
taking the sanyasi order but not freed fully. e fourth ‘you’, the basis for all
these three you’s, is the real You. It is just a spectator and not the partaker
of any of these things. Only in his presence do all the other three come into
being. It is the one ever perfect, and unaffected by such things.”
I was spellbound and asked Amma why I had ‘returned’. She replied
saying that it was because I had rishi runa , debt owed to the rishis . is
was why she was asking me to go, and to give the same message to the
world. She told me that when one of my disciples came to me to experience
the same oneness of atma , I would be fully free of that runa , and until
then I would have to remain in the world. I told her that was too much of a
punishment, now that I clearly knew and had experienced that I was not
the body but the spirit, and asked why I should again be le in the lurch in
this world. It would now be much too painful for me to live in this world.
Amma replied that I would not be able to help that, it was the order of the
Lord. Unless I made at least one person understand this, I could not be
freed from rishi runa , and even the great Adi Sankaracharya had not been
able to do that. So I was to go out into the world and to preach to them the
truth that they were not their bodies but the spirit, and try to stop them to
the extent possible, from running too much behind sensual enjoyment.
I was becoming intimidated at all this, at the thoughts of how I was going
to pass the days from now on, and who I would impart all this to for getting
freedom from rishi runa . Amma came near and caressing my head, said,
“Don’t worry boy, install me in your heart. I will be with you wherever you
are. I will see to it that it gets done.” I still await the one who will be able to
get it from me, while I linger around here among the householders. So far
no one has come, and the weighty wait still continues.
 Another Purascharan At Narmada

I    to the Narmada, with the intention to stay there
for three months to do another purascharan on the Srividya Shodashi
mantra . It was just past Guru Poornima and I had been at my Jammu
Ashram for a few weeks. at year I was not in the mood to go for
Chaturmas deeksha, and thought that I should use the Chaturmas for
another purascharan instead.
As usual I came to the Markandeya Sanyas Ashram, where I met Swami
Ramanandji Maharaj, the head and founder, and well-known, universally
accepted scholar of our time. He loves and accepts me as one among his
inner circle associates. I conveyed to him my intention of doing the
purascharan , and asked for accommodation. With great affection and
respect, I was allotted a room. It was to be shared with somebody though,
and he was helpless regarding this, since there were a lot of sanyasis staying
there to attend Swamiji’s daily classes on Vedanta . I have noticed that, in
no other ashram in India do so many sadhakas congregate at one place,
and receive proper and exact guidance for interpretation of spiritual texts.
ey are mostly young sadhakas who want to study, but sometimes even
mathaadhishas (head of the mutt), who want to groom their successors,
send their disciples here to get proper exposure on spirituality. But I was
not keen on sharing a room with three persons, being sure that my japa
purascharan would be undisturbed only I stayed alone. So with the help of
another known swamiji, and Ramanandji Maharaj’s consent, I began
searching for some other suitable accommodation. Finally aer two to three
days’ search I found a place on the other shore of the Narmada. is
ashram was in the name of Anandamayi Maa, world-renowned saint of
our time and well-known both in her own capacity as well her association
with the Nehru family as their guru. She shed the mortal coil only in the
eighties. e head of this ashram was one Swami Atmaswaroopananda, a
direct disciple of Maa Anandamayi, better known as Kedar Baba among
Srividya sadhakas . As directed, I approached him to make my request for
accommodation. We were sitting in an open area facing the Narmada. Our
conversation at some point went to the topic of my saadhana and
Himalayan life etc.—whether it was out of curiosity, or an intention to test
me, I am not sure but it did happen. is ashram is in a peaceful,
picturesque location affording solitude, away from crowds and markets.
Maa Anandamayi’s Mandir, Shiv Mandir, and the few rooms have been
carved out of the hill. I sent a mental e-mail praying to my Guruji, to make
this baba grant me permission for stay, as the chances looked bleak. If Maa
Narmada and my Guruji, Maa Tara didn’t will it, no amount of convincing
the Baba would work. Baba was at this place rarely, staying mostly at the
Indore ashram, also in Maa Anandamayi’s name. During the interview, all
of a sudden Baba asked me, “Are you from Gyanganj?” I kept quiet, as I
was not supposed to reveal my identity. In a ploy to divert his attention, I
brought Baba’s notice to a sadhu sitting on the other shore, washing his
hands and legs. I asked Baba, “Can you make that sadhu get up without
calling out to him, or without any gestures?” Baba shook his head, saying,
“Oh! at would be impossible!” He retorted asking me in turn, “Can you?
Can you do it?” I replied, out of re ex, “Baba, aren’t you saints always
saying that it is all one chaitanya that pervades everywhere equally? If that
is indeed true, then the chaitanya that ‘I’ am is also sitting there in the form
of that sadhu . And if that is so, if I stand up, then that sadhu must also
stand up.” What prompted me to do so? I closed my eyes for a few seconds,
then opened them again for a few seconds, looking intensely at the sadhu ,
whispering in my mind, “Get up, I say. Get up, get up.” When I did this,
that sadhu also got up mechanically, and sat down as soon as I sat as well.
Baba, now disturbed, stood up and did namaskaars to my feet and asked,
“Now please tell me, how is this possible?” I replied, “It is just a simple
matter. I merely sent him my thoughts by vibrations, accompanied with an
instruction, to get up. He got up. Before I sat down, I sent the same
vibrations again telling him to sit. at is all.” A few minutes passed with
Baba in silence. And he then granted me permission to stay there for my
12th purascharan !! Baba called his Brahmachari (Kanaiah), and instructed
him to make arrangements as per my needs, for stay in the cave beneath
the Maa Anandamayi temple. Baba had previously used it for his saadhana
and it was connected to a room on the bottom storey, just under Maa’s feet.
I was happy to get this suitable place for saadhana . It was the day of
panchami and I decided to begin saadhana on ashtami . I came back to
Markandeya Ashram and gave Swami Ramanandaji Maharaj the good
news of my getting a place of my choice, with the necessary conditions for
proper saadhana , and returned to Anandamayi Ashram immediately.
ough Baba had been planning to return to the Indore Ashram the next
day itself, at my request he agreed to delay it till ashtami day. On ashtami
morning, I took my sankalpa at the Narmada, and with Baba’s blessings,
started my japa purascharan . He then le for Indore giving instructions to
the staff to cater to my needs as if they were his. In addition to me, there
were only two or three other persons staying there. One of the servants
cooked food for all. I had only one meal a day, and just a cup of tea in the
morning and evening. I tried to maximize the time spent doing japa . Even
though the cave had electric lighting, the small gap in the door was enough
to let in air and light. I used to do japa every day for at least een hours.
Maa’s grace had been evident through it all, right from securing the place
to nishing the purascharana satisfactorily: a seamless ow of grace from
the two mothers, Maa and Narmada. Everything went smoothly and just as
I wished on those days. Every morning I would sit on the river banks for
japa till the sun got too hot, then would return to the cave and continue
the japa till lunchtime. In the evening I would again start japa to carry on
till late night. Over a month passed thus. Baba returned to the ashram from
Indore and I had discussions with him on my incomplete research work on
Srividya . e research was on the vibrations of bindu . Baba helped me a
lot with inputs in theory, plenty of encouragement with due appreciation.
ereupon I decided to continue the research work aer completing the
running purascharan .
One day we decided upon doing daily Sri Chakra Shodashi homam in the
night time, till the completion of the purascharan. Brahmachari Kanaiah
and Baba started constructing a big havan kund in an open area near the
ashram on the Narmada bank. On an auspicious night, Kanaiah and I
initiated the homam, since Baba was absent. I would recite the Shodashi
Mantra and Kanaiah would offer the aahutis . Later, this Brahmachari
became a good friend during my stays in Omkareshwar and Indore.
Once when I was walking through the ashram courtyard, I fell down due
to the surface being slippery. My le hand was badly injured, and hurting
as if it had been broken into pieces. One of my disciples, Dr. Raoji, was
called in from Dhar (near Indore). Suspecting a fracture, he insisted that I
go to Indore with him to get an X-ray. I was reluctant as that would
de nitely disturb my japa saadhana . So Dr. Raoji plastered my le hand,
asking to keep it for three weeks. But there was no sign of the pain coming
down aer some days of nursing and medication. And though it was
becoming almost unbearable, I persevered with the saadhana through the
pain.
Unto Grace! I completed my purascharan in ninety days, in the
prescribed time. I began getting ready to leave for my Jammu Ashram, but
Baba was not happy to bid me farewell and let me go. He was persuading
me to stay with him at Indore Ashram for some time more, where I could
make use of his big library for my research. As I too was not in a hurry, I
conceded to his loving insistence. I accepted his proposal with courtesy and
stayed at the Indore Anandamayi Ashram. One of my Srividya disciples
Swami Brahmendran was also staying at that Ashram during those days.
He was very helpful to me, in all aspects. I was introduced to many
devotees of Baba, and a few of them including Ashok Dubey and
Purushotham took Srividya Deeksha from me. Everyday I spent many
hours in the library, taking notes. One day Baba put forth the suggestion of
my starting daily satsang and offering classes on Soundarya Lahari . Baba
would talk on literature by Maa Anandamayi. We implemented this, and
for a month or so, a good number of Baba’s devotees attended.
In those days I was troubled frequently by stomach pain. While I had
been at my Jammu Ashram previously, I had suffered for long with peptic
ulcer. e pain was increasing so one day Kanaiah took me to a doctor at a
nearby hospital. Endoscopy or colonoscopy showed that the ulcer had
worsened and so medication was started. My stay in Indore thus extended
for a few more days.
In the Jammu Ashram Navaratri was always an important annual event.
As Navaratri was nearing, I insisted on leaving for Jammu and le that
week itself.
 Beginning Itself Is Ending

A
   of my last life and at the moment of the ‘I’ leaving that
body, perhaps there might have been the desire to be reborn as a
guru. Surely that must be why that in this birth I have manifested
as an avadhoota , wandered on this planet for so long. Common knowledge
says that the sun ‘rises’ and ‘sets’. But in reality it neither rises nor sets. It has
and will always be present—giving out energy as light and heat to all beings
till the end of creation. An Avadhoota is like a sun too, working to nature’s
orders. He functions like a night watchman to the world. He keeps himself
awake, while reminding others to be alert to their possession, and not
descend too much into the darkness of sleep, lest they invite the. His
message comes purely from the light of his spiritual experience. He wears a
placard warning against wasting life in mere sensual enjoyment, and
chasing aer money and power to protect a very perishable body. e
avadhoota, in doing what has been entrusted to him by the Almighty, is the
luminary not only shining the moonlight of wisdom, but also providing the
rejuvenating warmth of affection to the beings of this transitory world
tormented by desires. e reality of his being is always connected with the
ultimate existence known as the Supreme Being. It remains ever-shining
even aer the physical body made up of the ve elements, merges into the
respective sources.
I was in Jammu ashram in those days, prepared for a long stay for my last
and eenth purascharan of shodashi mantra of Srividya . e work
related to construction was almost over, having being done on a day-to-day
basis, due to scarcity of resources. It had not been possible to start out with
an overall plan because of shoestring budgets, and the rooms had been
constructed like kutias . But my lone sanyasi disciple, Swami
Omkarananda, arranged for a good amount of money to build a
convenient room for me with an attached bathroom.
When the room was ready, I had an urge to do a mauna vra ta for at
least 41 days and to do a purascharana, sustaining myself just on fruit and
thulasi jalam . Madan Lal Sharma, Omprakash and their families took care
of arranging for my basic needs. I used to lock the room from the inside,
and asked them to lock the door from the outside as well. From the back
door, I could come out for a stroll into a vacant enclosed space of just about
a hundred square feet, adjoining my room. e disciples attending to my
needs had made arrangements to place some fruit in plastic covers in the
open space daily, which I could collect during my stroll at nights.
I did japa averaging around sixteen hours everyday. e reduced sleep
and food, increased water intake, and a few yogic kriyas such as
pranayama etc. kept me healthy and I continued my saadhana peacefully.
I had a rich collection of reference books on Srividya and other scriptures
which I had already read, but whenever I had free time I engaged myself in
reading them and taking notes. I experienced a lot in those days during the
night time saadhana sessions.
One day, when it was almost dawn and I was about to conclude the night
japa and was readying for a break to do the morning rituals, I heard the
sound of footsteps, as if someone was walking just outside the cave. At rst
I ignored this, thinking this a hallucination from lack of sleep. A few
minutes later, I again sensed a silhouette, along with the sound. When we
face such situations, they can provide insights to us on what we are on the
inside. So at rst I was a little scared and perhaps it was a physiological
problem from not taking enough food etc. I confess I felt some kind of fear,
a rootless kind. But the intellect kicked in, and I now wanted to verify what
was actually outside. In spite of the cautious fear, the gyana shakti in me
did not allow it to grow out of proportion. A voice from within told me
there was nothing to fear, and to look outside. I popped my head out, and
saw somebody’s feet. I wondered who could have sneaked into the room
without my knowledge. As far as I remembered, I had bolted the door but
perhaps I might not have secured it well, so somebody might have come in.
en I tried to make out who it was. Because the low-ceilinged cave-like
room did not permit me to stand up inside, I could not stretch my legs
fully. ere was just barely enough space to crawl in and out. Crawling out,
I called out asking who it was. I could now see somebody- it was a woman,
an old lady of splendorous countenance. ere was a familiar smell about
her, and she wore South Indian style attire. Because it was still dark and
winter time, with some struggle I tried to turn on the lights on, but they
would not come on. Now growing more perplexed, I squinted to identify
her. Oh, my goodness! To my greatest astonishment, the lady was none
other than my beloved and all merciful Guruji, Avadhoota Tara Mayee,
standing there in front of the cave with a mesmerizing smile. I tried my
utmost to say something to express the feelings and emotions that surged,
but the force of love that had erupted upon her unexpected darshan was
choking my throat. Her gesture seemed to say, “Don’t worry, I have
received your words from the heart, no need for any words to be uttered.”
Like a tree that had been cut, I just fell down at her feet, my eyes raining
tears. I remained that way for a few minutes. en abruptly the thought
arose that I must offer her something, and getting up I went to look for
some fruit etc., but she made a gesture of dismissal, that she had no need
for such things, that she was satis ed with the bhajan that had been my
offering, and raised her hands to tell me to carry on. Desiring to touch her
hands, I advanced a little, but to my disappointment she vanished into thin
air.
Aer a very long time, I had again had such a satisfying saakshatkaaram.
And right at the time when my heart had been longing for love and
guidance, she had appeared and poured it on me. I was in tears thinking
that she had disappeared, before I could talk with her about my saadhana.
I was shaking in tears and holding my head, when to my surprise, she
reappeared and passed her hands on my head. Her touch totally refreshed
and reassured me, and I did a saashtaanga namaskaaram to Amma. She
patted my back lovingly and in her silvery voice said, “Kya re, r se ek baar
shuru kiya? Bahut acha. Yeh jeevan poora ek saadhana mayam banao.
Sanchita oorja se samaj ke logom ka kalyan karo .” (You have started
another purascharan? at is excellent. Let your whole life be one of
saadhana . And with the spiritual power you thus accumulate, you must
serve society.)
en Amma reached out to again touch my body, and with that touch I
lost myself in ‘my Self ’. For some time I didn’t know where I was—I had lost
all body-consciousness and complexes. I sat thus for a pretty long time, not
wanting to disturb and lose that state of bliss never before experienced.
When I came back to myself, it was sunset the next day. A whole day had
passed in ecstasy. I had not been asleep, but sitting with body bent towards
the wall of that cave.
Almost one month of saadhana had passed, and there were just a few
days remaining for completion of the japa purascharana . I had been so
caught in the powerful spell of that experience of enlightenment aer the
darshan, that I was unaware of its impact on my health. I learned later
from expert sources that such experiences very much debilitate the body. It
is not advisable to aspire for such experiences, because that everlasting
ocean of bliss is seen only aer traveling a very long way. e body also
must be prepared and ready to drink as much of that nectar as possible.
And if one has any work of the world in hand, it is better not to think of
touching it for the time being. My body had weakened to the extent that I
now felt incapable of performing the homam that was supposed follow the
purascharana . I had to forgo it this time as well. My spiritual brother
Abhayanandji had once told me that if ever I felt unable to do homam aer
the completion of japa purascharan , I could instead do a dasaamsa japa ,
which the scriptures permitted. at meant that I had to extend my stay by
a few more days. I continued the japa and completed it on the 50th day. I
slid a piece of paper outside the door, requesting that they open it on the
51st day. ere were a lot of disciples and devotees assembled outside that
morning, waiting for me with halwa for prasadam .
Finally I opened the door and came out, had darshan at the Shiva
Mandir and Devi mandir in the ashram premises, and then sat in front of
Maa for a few minutes. Chanting out loud the Om mantra, I broke my
mauna vrata, and ate some of the halwa prasadam to conclude the 51 days
of eventful saadhana .
Aer the experience of the protective hands of my beloved Guruji during
the 51-day saadhana, there have since been many more such experiences,
but the understandings from those were different from the one of this time.
is one had brought a considerable change in my body capacity. It had
happened seven years aer my Guruji le her body, so I was lled and
carried away by a lot of emotions, when she manifested in front of me to
bless, protect, and guide me in keeping to my course. I am certain that at
the time of my leaving this body as well, my Amma will be with me. Aer
this incident, when a wave of similar emotion arose in my heart even
remotely, I did not welcome it. In spite of that I once more had a severe
attack recently, which I will narrate in the later episode ‘Hamsa gaanam ’.
 Again At Narmada

I    to again nd myself on the banks, or rather the lap, of
Maa Narmada. I have not been able to fathom the reason for this deep
affinity and identi cation with Maa Narmada. On the very rst day of my
arrival at Omkareshwar, I went in search of the old Avadhoot Baba, who
used to stay in front of Vignanshaala on the Narmada banks (there is a
mention of this in the previous volume of my autobiography). Not nding
him there, I made enquiries from the ashram inmates but none were able
to provide a satisfactory answer. Let alone caring about, people barely pay
attention to this type of person. is was because he was so unassuming
and had made himself so inconspicuous, such was his state of detachment
and akinchanata (making oneself so insigni cant). But in today’s world,
people value only recognition and identity of some kind or even any kind—
if you give them the ‘Best Cheat’ award they will happily take it, because of
associated fame. I felt very pained at this.
However when I came out of the ashram, to my wonder I now saw him
at the same spot collecting dry leaves, unperturbed and with least concern
about the outside world. I went near and offered him my pranams. He
scanned me with his eyes for a few minutes, and serenely and silently
continued collecting dry leaves! Mustering some courage, I asked, “Baba,
where have you been? I have been looking for you the past three days.” He
remained silent for some more time, and then with a captivating smile he
spoke, “You too were on a long journey it seems! Very good. I am happy
that you have completed your Gyanganj journey successfully. And I knew
that one day you will return here to the Narmada.” Apparently he was not
willing to answer directly my question about his whereabouts. I said, “Baba,
by the grace of the Guru Mandali, the yatra and stay at Gyanganj were
successful. I did higher studies in Srividya, and gained some metaphysical
knowledge from there as well.” He interrupted, “I know, I know, but what
do you have to do with me? You may go now! Let me carry on.” I
submissively said, “Baba please don’t do that, don’t send me far away from
you. I wish to be near with you.” But Baba, refusing categorically said,
“Never. Our ways are different. ere is no use being here with me. For me
there are no dear and near ones except these dry leaves. is is my way of
life, and my message too!” He busied himself again with the same work of
collecting dry leaves. I thought that perhaps he was not in a good mood
and so was avoiding me. I was just turning away when he said in a
booming voice, “Son, it is not as you think. I remain always unruffled and
calm. Nothing can break my sahaja samadhi . And I was not avoiding you.
I just wanted to convey to you the truth that though the energy of existence
and the Guru Parampara are the same, we are travelling on different paths.
So why should you disturb me, or I disturb you?” He glanced at my face
lovingly. I said, “Baba, what you just said is correct. But I am merely a child
in front of you. Just a few years’ saadhana and a visit to Gyanganj are not
enough to ful ll the work entrusted to me by destiny. I recognize you as
one of the senior acharyas of Gyanganj. I thought that being in your
presence would help me gain more experience and knowledge which
would be useful for my work in the future.” Looking at my face with the
same smile again, he said, “Son, this time is very bad. People around here
are very sel sh. If you come and sit by me, de nitely you will also be
labeled the way I have been. ey will call you too mad! Better that you
hide your identity for some more time. Go, go away from me.” I returned to
the ashram in very damp spirits.
e spiritual life at the Markandeya Sanyas Ashram continued smoothly
in discipline. As I had been journeying continuously to many destinations
for years together, my matted hair and beard had grown forest-like. Some
of the swamis of the ashram who were friends and well-wishers, rst
suggested and then insisted that I get rid of the matted hair and beard, and
have a clean shave on the next poornima . Since long I had also been irked
at maintaining the jata and dhaadi (matted hair and beard). So on a
poornima day, I had a clean shave aer removing the matted hair!
During those days one Vaishnavite sadhu in white clothes, from
Maharashtra, was introduced to me by another known swami . His name
was Keshav and he was in charge of the cooking in the ashram. He was a
good bhajan singer and we would both sit on the Narmada ghats at night
and sing Maa bhajans together. Slowly our acquaintance grew to a deep
friendship. I had a strange dream one day and it repeated for a few
consecutive days. I would see this vision—I was in an unknown village. On
one side of this village were a few hills covered with vegetation, and on the
other side was the sea. ere were two teenage boys approach me and then
disappear. I felt these boys were known to me since long! I tried to decode
the dream but failed. Was it some message? My mind was a bit disturbed
and soon I was possessed, or focused upon the dream. One day again I
went to meet the old Avadhoot Baba. He was sitting under, and leaning
against a small tree, gazing at the Narmada. With a sardonic laugh, he said,
“Oh! You?! Now you look like a hero, or rather a Mathadhipati ! Look at
you now—clean head and face, vibhooti , kumkum and all. Your look has
totally changed! Now what has brought you to me again?!” I told him
about the repeating dream. Baba kept quiet for a long time. en suddenly
he spoke, “Yes, de nitely it has a message. Your destiny is telling you to
locate that village and meet the boys. ey are in search of a Guru. Go nd
out. You are destined to take them in your fold.” I told him in all
innocence, “Baba, I have no idea how to locate that village, and how to
reach those boys.” Baba smiled- “You are behaving like Hanuman who
forgot his strength. Your stamina, the accumulated energy, and your
willpower will take you to the next destination. Someone will come to take
you there, wait. Wait for a few more days.” I sat there quietly. Baba was also
immersed in deep silence. Breaking the silence, he said, “See, the small sh
in the Narmada forget the way to reach their mother and are lost. e
mother sh await the arrival of the small ones and asks a friend sh to help
her reach her children. e sh-friend helps in the search, and aer some
time mother and the children sh are united. Remember, you are like that
mother sh. Go and do your search, you will nd them. Now you must
leave! Do not sit here anymore.” I went back to the ghat in front of the
ashram. Contemplating on the story Baba had told, I sat there for a long
time.
 In Search Of Unknown

O
   I was sitting on the banks of the Narmada, I told
Keshav about the dream. He heard it with due respect and said,
“Oh! I think I know a village similar to your description. But it is
in Maharashtra!” I requested him to take me there. But he stayed silent
and would not answer. Aer two days, he said, “See Swamiji, the last few
years I have been very eager to get initiated into sanyasa through proper
deeksha . Aer completing the rituals, I shall de nitely take you to that
village.” I thought it is not in propose bargain, because it involves a lot of
commitments as a guru of this kind. So I posed an empty smile in the
vacuum and kept quiet. Aer two days he came to me with the same
request but this time the protocol was changed entirely, so, I just thought
whether give and take is a part, way of life. What is wrong in doing Sanyas
Sanskar to him-“It is all okay? en, we have to x a “good muhurtham”
(auspicious time) for Sanyas Deeksha. Next Guru Poornima I will do it for
you. First you take me to the village and help me to nd the boys I am in
search of ”, He agreed. I was having only twenty eight Rupees with me.
Keshav told me that he will take care of the traveling expenses. He said,
rst we will go to Shirdi and then next day, we can proceed to our
destination.
During my college days one of my friends gave me a photo of Shirdi Sai
Baba. I read small books on Sai during that period. But as I had never
visited Shirdi earlier, I was happy to go there. From Indore we have started
journey to Shirdi by night private bus and reached there next day morning.
Even though I was going there for the rst time, I felt as if I knew this
place since long! We kept our belongings in a locker of Sansthan and aer
bath we went to Sai Baba darshan. Keshav went to verify whether it was
crowded or not. I was sitting alone on a bench in Lendi Garden. An old
man came near and asked, “Baba, have you taken breakfast? Have this!” he
offered few bread pieces to me. As Keshav was very orthodox vaishnav,
neither he took food at night in hotel nor did he allow me to. I was hungry.
I accepted the bread offered to me by the old man (a Baba devotee), while
I was eating, Keshav came to me and said that there was no rush at the
Samadhi Mandir and so we better go now. “Abhishek” (Holy ablution) was
going on and that the Samadhi Darshan would be possible now. Aer I ate
the bread and washed my hand and face with the water from the
Kamandal and followed him to Samadhi mandir.
Abhishek was in progress. We had a good darshan to my heart’s content.
As there was not much rush we got a lot of time to be at the Samadhi
Mandir. We came out and sat in the open courtyard for some time. Keshav
told me that we better move now only then we may be able to reach our
destination by night. We went to the bus stand. I was not knowing where I
was going. We got a state transport bus to Alibag, which was ready to take
leave. Journey to Alibagh was very pleasant except that Keshav did not to
allow me to eat or drink anything from the hotels. On the way, around
aernoon, the bus took a halt for lunch and we got some boiled ground
nuts. We had it for our lunch.
We reached Alibagh by about ten at night. It was raining heavily there.
Keshav updated that we had to travel yet another een kms to reach the
village. By chance we got a bus, and by mid night we reached our
destination, the village of chowl, which I was in search of. Due to heavy
rain we got drenched completely. We again took an auto rickshaw and
reached a small Hanuman Mandir about 2 kms from Chowl naka. Keshav
rang the Mandir Bell and from the nearby house an old lady with her two
sons, young boys, came out. ey were all known to Keshav. e old Lady
went into her house and brought some “Bhakari” (Roti made of Rice) and
few pieces of Jaggery which we had for dinner and spread our clothes to
dry and tried to sleep.
 Liberation Of A Soul

I    my stay in the Indore Ashram for a few more

months. My research on the vibrations of Srichakra bindu was in progress,
with some perceivable results in the desired direction. Aer the butter y
incident, Baba had also transformed into a good friend and helped me a lot
in making the research a success, for we had both taken shelter in the same
shastra . In the evenings for about an hour I would lecture on Srividya or
allied subjects and in the nights I would either read, write, or practice
certain mantras. e rst phase of my research was almost over, and the
manuscript of “Secrets of Sri Chakra ” was now ready.
In the following days, I was taking it easy and relaxing, engaging more in
contemplation than in thinking. My saadhana at night used to be sahaja
japa with observation.
With these amendments to my routine, I was regaining the energy
dissipated in the butter y adventure. A different kind of clarity with some
depth in feeling, was descending from within. One day while I was
reclining in a chair in the room, and brooding on some emotional aspects of
Sri Vidya, I suddenly heard the jingling sound of a woman’s anklets,
somewhere around me. I turned my head to look, but there was nobody
there. I thought it was a hallucination and did not pay much attention. e
next night I heard again the same sound outside of my room. I opened the
door to verify who that might be! But there was no one. is was repeating
almost every day and I was growing suspicious that someone was playing
pranks on me, such things not being uncommon in ashrams. Ashram
managers sometimes resort to such tactics of using women, devotees, or
fellow sadhus to drive away a newcomer who may be growing in popularity
thereby threatening their position. So I thought it might be some such foul
play and wanted to be careful. Without mentioning it, I watched the
attitude of everyone in the ashram, but found no discrepancy in anybody’s
mind whatsoever. en my attention turned to other possible angles. I
eliminated the possibility of the sounds coming from the adjacent house. I
decided to nd out the truth by staying awake and alert during the nights,
keeping my curious mind open to all possibilities. e sounds of paayal
(anklets) were distinct and de nitely not a hallucination.
One night, it may have been an hour aer midnight, I saw a beautiful
young village girl sitting on a bench beneath a tree outside my apartment-
like room, right below my bedside window. I had never seen such a girl in
that ashram before. Devotees visiting from neighboring areas were seen
only during the daytime, and women were not permitted to roam around
in the day, let alone at night. en how was it that this girl was sitting like
this in the garden, without any fear or without the knowledge of anyone in
the ashram?
Even though my throat was choking from a bit of fear, I gathered some
courage and in a hoarse voice asked her who she was. She glanced at me
but did not answer, seeming to be in deep silence. ough I repeated my
question two or three times, there was no answer. My peace had now gone
to the winds. Noticing her unusual attire and suspecting some paranormal
activity, I closed the door, sat on the bed, and doing aachamana , started
vigorous japa . In the morning, I narrated this happening to Baba, but he
was not ready to buy my story and responded with—“Can you not see that
here in this ashram Maa’s presence is immense? ere are no impurities in
the surroundings either, and that rules out existence of any such thing.” His
argument sounded logical too and such was his belief in these matters. Or
he might have thought I was hallucinating due to the stress and strain of
continuous saadhana of the past few days. I chose to remain tight-lipped,
though with displeasure.
Now I could not expect him to help further on an issue incomprehensible
to him. So taking back my le, I decided to meet the situation from a
different angle and perspective. I requested Baba that he be at my disposal
during the odd hours of the night when these odd incidences occurred. I
asked if I might disturb him then, and he assured me that he would be at
my call whenever such a need arose. Aer a few days, there was the repeat
of the same sounds of anklets and vision of the girl. e matter now having
turned to be a prestige issue, with accumulated courage, I called out to the
girl from inside the room. She was out in the garden, when I asked
demandingly “Who are you, and why are you here?” To my surprise, this
time this so-called girl, spoke to me with a sense of familiarity, like a normal
human being. She was young, wearing ornaments and makeup and dressed
like a bride. She said, “Ram Ram Babaji!” When I heard these words, I
started to sweat, sensing that this was a ghost. I had read and heard before
about them, but here was a real encounter with one of them. I asked why
she had become a spirit and she said, “A few years back, when this area was
not much inhabited and developed, it used to be a little village with a
narrow road running through. It was my wedding day, and I was being
taken to the village of my in-laws immediately aer the marriage ceremony.
It was already a little dark, almost sunset time. ere was an hour’s journey
le, and three or four bullock-carts full of our celebrating marriage party,
were moving along. e man driving our cart was drunk. A motor vehicle
was coming from the opposite direction, and the headlights of the vehicle
frightened the bullocks which got agitated and started running amuck and
went out of control. e cart in which we, the newly married couple were
sitting, overturned and I, the bride, died on the spot. Due to lack of
knowledge about death rituals and rites, neither my parents nor my in-laws
took any care to absolve me of my situation. And so here I am, estranged
and shuttling.” She stopped for bit and I asked, “But, why you are here
now, sitting in front of my room.”
She replied, “We spirits get agitated too, due to worldly disturbance. I felt
some solace when I passed this place recently, so since the past few days I
have been visiting here regularly. e sound of the mantras that you chant
gives some relief. Please don’t drive me away, I won’t harm anyone.”
Meanwhile a wind chime hanging in my room started making a pleasant
sound due to a light breeze blowing in from outside. ough it was very
soothing to me, that girl was unable to withstand it and she disappeared. I
knew by hearsay that the sound of chimes keeps away such spirits. I
understood now the reason for the usage, having seen it rst-hand.
ough I was disappointed that the ghost le, but in talking to it my fear
consciousness disappeared, and I had gained some knowledge about that
spirit. e next morning when I met Baba, I did not initiate the topic
bluntly like the previous time. Instead I asked him, “How old is this
ashram?” He replied,” May be more than thirty years.” Next I asked, “How
long have you been in this ashram?” He replied, “I have been here almost
from the beginning.” “Oh”, I said, “And when was this main road laid?”
Baba said, “About twenty years ago and before there used to be a small
unpaved road. Since the place was quiet and peaceful, we selected it for our
ashram.” I asked, “I wonder if you remember an accident which took place
here, I believe some people in a marriage party died.” Now Baba unable to
contain himself, moved to the edge of the chair, like a fan of Sachin
Tendulkar when he was about to hit a double century! He exclaimed,
“What! How do you know that?” I said, “e name of the young bride who
died was some Raagini, from Mahu.” Baba was now fully stumped. He had
no choice but to hear my story. I told him all. He said, “Oh, she is the one
who is frequenting nowadays. You did talk to that preta then”. I affirmed
and said there were still a lot of things yet unknown about her, but though
the chime had frightened her, I hoped she would come back.
Baba requested me not to reveal this to the others, since the boys in the
ashram, especially the Bengali would become scared and run away. en
he would be in trouble for want of servants. I told not to worry, that this
was only the movie trailer, the real one was yet to come! I said, “Look here,
Baba, if some karma-khanda (ritual) is required for appeasement in order
to release her from her plight, then you should help me.” Babaji said,
“De nitely. I am willing.” And he said, “If you are afraid, you can stay with
me.” I replied, “Not at all.”
As a consequence of this incident, my whole attitude about pretas , astral
bodies and spirits changed and an unknown con dence and courage lled
me from within. at night I slept very well. All the facts that I had read
about preta , spirit, and astral body came to memory one by one. I
concluded that I must do whatever possible within my power to rid her of
this state, which would make me happy too. e next day, as expected I
heard the same jingling sound. is time without any perplexity, I called
out to her by name. When she heard her name, I was able to see her
happiness. With a jump she reached near the window, and did pranaams
to me. She said, “Aer leaving the body, this is the rst time I hear someone
call me with such love. In the plane where I am now, such a thing is a
miracle. If you can move me so much, I hope you can save me also from
this preta yoni .” I asked her if this was the rst time that she was haunting
this ashram. She replied, “Yes.” I asked her why she didn’t do so before. She
said, “We, who are in astral bodies, cannot stay still in a place, even a
spiritual one, if there is a lack of purity, or in front of people who do not
have enough vital power. Aer many long years, you have come here and
are doing satvic mantra japa . Pranayama that you are doing gives you
strong vital force making you fearless. Unless pranic shakti is strong, one
cannot become fearless. at is why I am able to remain in front of you for
such a long time, and you are also able to talk to me normally without any
fear. Until we pretas nd ourselves such environments, we cannot remain
static and have to keep on moving, and we cannot feel peace either. I am
getting all that now.” She started again pleading with me to do something to
save her from that yoni where she had been stuck without any direction to
go further. “Pease help me”, she said in a pathetic voice. Now that my
nerves had calmed down, and I had gained ground in understanding, here
was a situation with potential to give insight of a hundred births, for a
sincere spiritual sadhaka . ough to a person living the ordinary everyday
life of super cial existence, this dealing with para-normal existence may not
appear so useful, to me the value added is great. I searched for a solution in
my memory bank of acquired knowledge, for something to elevate this soul
to higher realms of existence. en there came hazily to my memory, rituals
performed in such situations by Kerala Nambudiri brahmins . Sometimes
individual souls have their own set of karma too.
By now she had disappeared, and I didn’t know why. For a few more days
she did not appear, perhaps because I had failed to ask whether she had
any speci c desire needing ful lment before release could happen. Now it
did not seem like an extraordinary incident to me anymore. But with the
sincere longing of a man who knew the way to help such a soul, I waited
for her reappearance. And I decided that if that did not happen, I would
still summon her in my own way.
e next morning, with the prelude already in place, I passed on to Baba
all that had happened, and what was expected of me. He started ip-
opping now and I said, “Look, one is not supposed to expect or look for
reasoning for every experience. We have our shastras as proofs we must
believe in them. ough you don’t see the sweetness in sugar or jaggery,
you certainly experience it. No certi cate is required from others for what
you have personally experienced, though they may think it illogical. We
cannot give demonstrations for everything to everyone.” But, I did want to
prove to Baba what was happening there.
ere were no more encounters with the girl. Recalling her anguished
voice, I felt that she had been trying to convey something more, but
something was blocking and curtailing her attempts or perhaps threatening
her. Otherwise she certainly would have appeared since she was getting so
much solace. Or perhaps she was afraid that I might subdue and exploit
her, like most other tantrics do with spirits. I have seen such people who
turn millionaires as a result—glaring examples are to be found in Delhi, a
city of intellectual idiots.
So I devised a program of my own. Aer a few days on an ashtami , I
asked Baba to be with me in my room at night, without revealing the
purpose. In the meantime getting some sandalwood, I carved out a statue
of the girl Raagini from it. Recollecting relevant details from memory, I
made preparations for all the rituals. Aer midnight, I performed a small
pooja in the name of Raagini, which caused her to appear on the bench
under the tree near my bedroom window. I asked Baba to look at the
bench where she was sitting, but he could see nothing, though he was able
to hear the sound of the paayal or anklets. I requested her to grant a favor
by revealing herself to him. She replied saying that he would not be able to
see her, since he was still harboring worldly desires. Existence of such
desires made one weak and unable to see entities like her. And if the
entities did allow themselves to be seen, those powerful waves of desire
would drag the entities back into this world. She especially did not want to
return to our world from where she was now. Because seeing from her
place, she now knew more about our world than we do, and she thought
our world the worst one to be in, for a pure atma . But she said if I touched
him or he touched me, she could be visible to Baba. Fortunately, Baba
could hear her saying this. Touching my shoulder he looked at the bench,
and now Raagini had become visible to him as well. His face changed, and
he asked me to tell her to leave that place for ever.
I conveyed this to Raagini. She replied, “It is not a question of my leaving
the place—somebody has to rst release me from this yoni, and for that a
favor needs to be done on my behalf.” When I asked what that might be,
she replied, “You must give a bhandara , a feeding of the poor, in my name
and submit that karma to God. en upon that merit, I will be able to shed
this body. e bhandara must contain Dal Baati Churma . I promise that
aer that act, I will be liberated and leave this place.” I agreed to this,
promising to do all that on the approaching amavasya day.
When Baba saw all this, and heard her speak her like a normal human,
he was le with no option but to obey. But a miser is ready to forgo his life,
though not his penny when it comes to giving it. It took a lot of convincing
to make Baba realize the retributions that would result from going back on
his commitments as a sanyasi, who should view s uch situations as divine
commands. us on the next amavasya , we did a good bhandara and
made plans for a pooja at night. A small idol of a young girl was made out
of chandan (sandalwood). Dal Baati Churma were prepared and other
pooja items arranged. I performed the pooja in my bedroom itself. Aer the
aavaahan , I spoke to the idol, “You must show me proof that you have
accepted my naivedyam , and that you are leaving this place.” Just at the
time of offering naivedyam, we witnessed that the plate in which the
naivedyam had been kept, shook a little. Aer arathi , the lamp that had
been lit for pooja extinguished by itself. Such a thing happening is an
indication of liberation to the departed soul. Baba was spellbound and now
looked at me with altogether different eyes. He was now lled with
renewed belief and faith in our shastras and rishis .
In Kerala, the Nambudiri Brahmins oen perform such poojas and kriyas
for the bene t of departed souls. I learnt to perform them from a relative in
my native village during my college days, just out of curiosity. Now that
knowledge had come in useful.
Aerwards, when news of this spread, some intellectuals who were
ashram visitors and thought themselves kings of the Babas , who shall
remain nameless, came forward and started scrutinizing me and upbraided
Baba for permitting such irrational and absurd things to happen in the
ashram. I assured them that there was no deception or cheating involved,
that I had all particulars of the girl with me, that they were welcome to
cross-check facts, and that I would entertain all questions. Of course,
modern scienti c process has no value for such things and does not accept
fourth-dimensional existence. For science, knowledge is to be gained only
from the visible three dimensions. In order to enter the fourth dimension
you have to leave, or rather kick the ego that requires scienti c validation.
Spirituality will never conform to those norms, and science should lick its
(spirituality’s) feet. Science is going to take you to the ignominy of having to
provide a DNA certi cate to prove your parentage. is is what shameless
perverts teach us as science. Scienti c thinking, in the manner of a parasite
destroying its own host, destroys the very mind in which it took birth. e
mind can never reach the heart. If you forget to put the spirit in it, if you
don’t know what a heart is, you will never know the music of life. en
what would be the point of living here, even with all those amenities
provided by science? Scientists have turned humans into testing grounds
for their inventions. is has become a kind of slavery to greedy scientists,
and not to science.
 From Here To There And Back

I
   necessary that at every time, everything should happen
according to the desires of a human being for him to develop faith in
God. But if his desire bears in it a tinge of divinity, or if it is for the
pervasive goodness of others, or if it is unblemished by any sel shness, then
someday it will de nitely materialize. If it does not, then one must be
determined and add that missing element to the desire, so it can be
granted. For that, one needs to wait with full patience and belief in the way
of functioning of the law of nature, without tampering with the rules.
It took more than sixteen long years for me to complete the rst part of
my research works on Sri Vidya. ose days I used to be in Kurnool, in
Andhra Pradesh. e work of “e Science and Essence” was complete,
and I now started typing it up. e volume was more than 500 pages long
and I could complete the rst phase of the writing work in a few months.
Aer the rst writing work was completed, it took the form of a hard-
bound book. I planned to go to Kashmir, but the secret intention in my
mind was to really go to Gyanganj in Tibet. Ramesh arranged for the
money and booked tickets to Varanasi starting from Secunderabad. I did
not inform the families of either Ramesh or Satyanarayana about the
likelihood of my proceeding from there to Gyanganj to submit the
manuscript of the research work to the great Gurus of Gyanganj, only due
to whose permission and blessing, I could complete the work. I felt that an
element of grace was missing in my work, or some missing links were
needed to make this work a reality.
I reached Varanasi, and stayed at the Sringeri Mutt in Kedar Ghat where
Ramakrishnananda, the then manager of the Mutt was a good friend who
would help and take care of me at every visit there. We used to sit at the
Harishchandra Ghat every evening and chat, meditate, or have discussions
on saadhana . Even though he was known to be short- tempered, his
attitude towards me was always friendly, and even brotherly. So aer
pleasantries were exchanged, I shared with him the incomplete work of my
dreams, and my aim of seeking the blessings of my Gurus and asked for
this advice. His rst move was to pick up the spiral-bound volume of “e
Science and Essence of Srividya” and place it in front of the shrine of Maa
Sharada, the presiding deity of that mutt , aer which he performed a
Saraswathi pooja . I stayed with him at the Kedar Ghat Mutt for a few days
and then embarked on my journey to Tibet. It was difficult to get a ticket to
Kolkata by train, and so I opted to y up to Gauhati and from there, travel
on to Gangtok by road. e journey to Gangtok was a most pleasant one,
the entire route was scenic and almost unearthly beautiful, the natural kind
which I have always preferred. Since I had no acquaintances there, I stayed
in a room at the famous Hanuman Tok Mandir. ough I was trying to
nd the route to Tibet where Gyanganj, my place of interest was located, I
failed to obtain any accurate, detailed information or leads. Since the
weather was bad at the time, I decided to go to Arunachal Pradesh to nd
the way to reach Gyanganj. I informed Ramesh and others at Kurnool
about this, telling them not to worry even if I was late in returning and that
I was held up in Itanagar, the capital of Arunachal, because of bad weather.
I had to stay there for a few days to arrange for my inner line permit to
travel in that politically sensitive area.
When the weather improved, I decided to proceed alone towards Tibet,
and by walk, as I had done previously. Keeping in mind the last few
journeys’ experiences, this time around I kept some eatables with me, like
murukku and pallipatty , which sisters Sujatha and Hari had prepared for
my journey. Usually for every journey they would prepare for me such food
items to carry along. And as for the experiences I met with, I shall talk
about those in a separate episode.
 Again At My Father’s Abode

I    Himalayas again, the abode of the Universal Father Shiva,
who dwells here with his consort, Mother Parvati. It is the universal truth.
Anyone wanting to feel their presence can do so here with a pure heart
bere of preconceptions. I felt exhilaration at reaching once again this part
of the earth, where the gigantic mountains standing here give their message
that one should lead the kind of life that will make one hold his head up
high. ey seem to say—be like us: egoless, spotless and pure, peaceful and
full of the con dence that springs from strong foundations, else prepare to
face the inevitable wearing away or erosion.
I recalled the days spent in these mountains during my previous sojourn
to Gyanganj. And just like that time, this time too I walked. I walked, and
walked all day long feeling no need for rest, nor breaking the monotony of
solitude. e journey was a joy in itself. But before the onset of night, I
would seek shelter in the form of a vihara or gompa , or some dwelling
place for Buddhist monks. By the fourth day of travel all the food stuff I
had brought as snacks, I had eaten. Now I had to depend only on whatever
was served at the vihara . As a rule, anyone from the plains planning travel
in the mountains must use only boiled water to the extent possible.
Otherwise they should have mineralized water, since the water in the
springs and rivers there is raw, not containing any minerals needed for the
body’s upkeep. As I was unaccustomed to the type of food there as well, on
the sixth day stomach problems started plaguing me, with episodes of
diarrhea more than a dozen times a day. It had now become difficult to
walk. Somebody in the vihara gave me some native medicines similar to
Ayurvedic herbs. I was forced to keep myself to the bed in the room where I
stayed, my stomach not getting much relief. e next day one of the lamas
came to my bedside and asked me to lay down in shavaasana . en
catching hold of both big toes of my feet, he pulled up my legs, then
dropped them to the oor. He said, “You will be alright with this technique,
no need for worry.” To my wonder, I had recovered by evening!
My wandering in those Himalayan hills was all alone, on terrain with no
proper roads, and with no aids like compass, guide, or map to help me. All
I had was an intuition, and an unknown divine impulse guiding me
through, as I moved along with just a prayer in my heart to my beloved
Guruji, the impulse being the thirst to meet the great masters.
It was the eighth day of my trekking, and it was nearing sunset. A chilly
cold wind blew, and the air seemed charged with a strange, supernatural
feel. e Himalayan heights are always yielding mystic experiences. To my
dismay, there was no sign of any village, gompa or vihara , in fact no sign of
human inhabitation whatsoever. Adding to my lot, rain started pouring
suddenly, and within a few minutes it changed to dense snowfall. I was
nding myself in peril, with my body and clothes drenched completely.
Fortunately, the manuscript I was carrying was well-packed in a plastic
cover, so there was no fear of it getting ruined. e shoulder bag in which I
was carrying my belongings had now become heavier from the weight of
water. Nowhere near could I nd any shelter from the snow. I perched
inside a cle in a small rock nearby, and from the shoulder bag pulled out
the small plastic sheet which I always carried with me during my journeys.
is time Ramakrishnanand had purchased it for me at Kashi. Covering my
body and shoulder bag with it, I sat there for a long time. Aer an hour or
so, the snowfall and rain ceased but darkness had now descended. I
thought it would make sense to stay there the whole night, and face what
may come to pass.
For me, that night is one to be remembered lifelong, as it gave me a lot of
insights into the state of being alone. In fact, it is not unlike the tormented
soul within everyone that travels alone for many lives together in different
bodies, in the wilderness of ignorance. We only imagine that we have
plenty of company. To have the solace of company means that one should
know everything about one’s companions, and they know everything about
one too, and that it should all be supported by veri able proofs. Actually,
whatever we know about ourselves and of others, is just like talking in the
night in a jungle: there is no reality to it. So for all practical purposes, that
ignorance is also very much like a wilderness. We do not really know
anything about our parents, wife, children, friends—whatever we claim to
‘know’ comes just from assumptions—there are no valid facts with
corroboratory proofs. If at all we seem to have company, it is only of the
Guru, the incarnation of the Almighty.
e night was getting darker and I shivered in the biting cold of the
blustery wind. In drenched clothes and praying to my Guruji, I sat there
doing my japa with intense focus for some time, and heaven knows how
long I did so, for when I opened my eyes it was morning. I discovered that
I had slept leaning on the rock itself, and now the sun was shining.
I searched for signs of inhabitation, and nding none I swung into action
again. e clothes were yet to dry and I was feeling hungry too. I was
thankful when I spotted a vihara at a distance. It took a while to reach
there and I stayed there for the rest of the day to dry my clothes and have a
good wash. ey gave me some roti and curry, whatever was at their
disposal, but it was very spicy. Perhaps in those colder regions of the upper
Himalayas, hotter and spicier food is needed for survival. Aer taking a
nice nap, one or two lamas, inmates of that vihara, sat with me asking
about my mission to Gyanganj. I narrated my experiences of the previous
Himalayan journey. Being locals they gave me some invaluable clues about
the area too. So the very next morning, I continued on my journey.
By evening I had reached the foot of those hills where Gyanganj is
situated. Just by being there I felt a sense of accomplishment. I had done it!
I had nally reached my destination. I was overjoyed to see Bhruguram
Paramahamsa at the main entrance of Gyanganj itself, as if he had been
awaiting someone’s arrival. Perhaps it was me? He received me with a
beautiful smile and said, “Son, I am happy that you have completed a part
of your research work. Now that the work is ready, you’d better take it to
Mahatapa Baba and submit it at his holy feet.”
e next day, Bhruguramji, accompanied by the same older swami with
the Tamilian look, took me to the inner cave. e cave was lled with
divine effulgence and fragrances. is was the rst time I was coming so
close to the holy feet of the great guru Mahatapa. With all reverence and an
unknown fear, I placed the spiral-bound volume of “e Science and
Essence of Srividya’ near his feet. He was sitting in siddhasana posture on a
rock, probably made of crystal. ough he never opened his eyes, yet we
could all hear very well the humming of OM reverberating in the cave. is
was the sign that the work submitted at his holy feet had received the
supreme approval, as per the tradition of acceptance. Bhruguramji then
asked me to pick up the manuscript and follow him. When we had reached
just outside the cave, he turned to embrace me and said, “Son, aer more
than y years, this is the rst time that we heard the sound of our
Supreme Guru Mahatapa. His accepting your research work is a success by
itself. May the whole universe be bene tted by your work”. I had tears in
my eyes. Bhruguramji asked me to rest there for a day with the same
Tamilian swamiji . I agreed, and just as it had happened in the last visit, this
time also the swamiji remained oblivious to my presence in his cave,
showing no interest in talking to me, nor giving me anything to eat. Even
though I tried my level best to talk to him about something, he ignored or
avoided me, and God knows why!
Bhruguramji called upon me in the morning, and accompanying me to
the main entrance to bid me farewell, permitted me to return. With
pranamas to all gurus at Gyanganj, I embarked upon my return journey.
 The Must Forget Faces

T
   purposeful forgetting is a valuable one. If practiced well,
it can free us from a lot of the dross material that we collect in life’s
journey. is may have been cast on us—perhaps by a neighbor or
by an enemy, and sometimes carelessly, sometimes unknowingly, or
sometimes on purpose. Almost everyone can recall from their lives, a few
faces that have de nitely irritated them, like thorns in the esh. We must,
through proper means, try to eliminate them from memory as early as
possible, before it becomes a cause for concern. We have to forget them
forever, or the blood pressure will go heights of seriousness. I do remember
an incident, one of sorrow that had le a scar in my heart.
It was during the initial stage of the construction work of my Jammu
ashram. One swami was in need of shelter, and I too was in need of a
person able to oversee the work in my absence. Since both our want and
necessity met this way, I requested him to stay there. I do not have the
temperament to extract work from labourers, and I also had to travel here
and there to arrange money for the work. I had met him during my stay in
Rishikesh a few years ago, and he had been a good friend there. He readily
agreed to my proposal. Aer accommodating him at the ashram site in a
small kutia, which was just a thatched shed at that time, I le on a long trip
for some other work. is was way back in the 90s, when cell phones were
not available and not even invented. us there was a huge gap in
communicating, but I had le in the innocent belief that there was no need
for worry as he as a friend would be monitoring the work. It was in this
interim that I had the chance to go to Kailash and my return from there, I
was then assigned a task by one of my mentors at Vanavasi ashram etc. All
this happened while I had almost no communications from the Jammu
ashram for a long period of time.
I was staying for a few months in Haridwar aer my return from Jaunsar
Bawar 10 (Chakrata—Dehradun). One day I met some devotees from the
same village on their monthly trip for Sankranti Snaan at Haridwar. Among
them was one of my disciples from the village who was in charge of the
construction. He insisted that I return to the village urgently, but he did not
disclose any further details. He kept pressing me to return as early as
possible. Of course the major portion of the construction work was over,
with two temples dedicated to Shiva and Durga completed. On enquiry I
was given to understand that the behavior of the swami , whom I had
brought and kept there, had now changed, and he happened to be quite
indifferent. Neither he nor the villagers were able to cope up with their
respective expectations as a sadhak or as devotees. is could damage the
spiritual ecology of the village to any irreparable extent. If we do not
understand the writing on the wall, we may have to pay the price of losing
the dedicated devotion of the villagers. Conceding to their legitimate
arguments, I decided to go to the Jammu ashram. When I reached there, or
so to say even before reaching there, the sadhu had learned of my return to
the ashram, and he started a smear campaign against me with the help of a
few of his cronies.. As I had expected this already, I did not entertain
anything that might fuel his agony further. I understood that since he had
been here for the past few months, taking pains to look aer the ashram all
by himself, it was only natural for a sense of insecurity to erupt in him aer
taste of the full freedom in every dealing that I had assigned to him.
Sharing or forgoing a right, power, or status aer having tasted it is not an
easy affair. So I wanted his presence there as in the normal way and as
usual, which was not an issue for me or for the villagers. But that did not
appeal to him and he started manifesting symptoms of dislike. He disliked
my very presence there, oen using rough words of acid towards me. And
worse, he started polarizing the devotees of that small area. Some of the
disciples in that village informed me of this fearfully, that this polarization
was disturbing the peaceful coexistence they previously enjoyed. Since he
continued trying to make divisions among the disciples, I had no option le
but to request him to return to Haridwar. I told him politely that as the
construction work was now over, his esteemed service was no more
solicited, and extended gratitude to him for his help during that long
period. He grew angry at this, registering strong resistance. ough I
explained to him of the damage of goodwill being caused in the village
which we as indebted sadhus to the village people are to uphold, but it
failed to effect any understanding or mean anything to him. From fear of
unwanted confrontations, I had to resort to some rm steps, and replaced
the request to leave with a ceremonial send off. He decided on a dharna
outside the gate of the ashram and tried to create some sympathy, but
when he saw that he was not getting much traction, he le the place. But
not without threatening drastic consequences of returning again and
threatened me with his dishonorable lingo. en he sat for a whole day and
night just at the ashram gate, for which he was successful in generating a
sympathy wave towards him from some of the villagers. Now I had to show
sensitivity in answering and satisfying everyone, without damaging the
goodwill for sadhus in the hearts of the devotees. I wanted to get rid of the
mess, but diplomatically. Without a least knowledge of what a more serious
trouble I was going to get into!
In between I made a trip to Rishikesh to meet one of my swami friends,
who was staying in an ashram there. ere I met with another swami , who
was acquainted with the swami who was disturbing the peace in Jammu,
and making an issue with me. In sweet but ensnaring words, that swami
told me that the other swami was fearful of him, and they were not on
good terms with each other. And hence if he came to stay with me, that
other swami would not dare disturb me anymore. As I was in deep agony,
his words were of high solace to me. Believing them, I took him to bosom. I
too liked this idea, but never re ected on the consequences. To be frank, I
was too naive to anticipate such politics, or any crookedness and
manipulation in behavior. So to get rid of a devil, I decided to jump into
the deep sea where worse sharks live. is new swami joined the Jammu
ashram. Subsequently, the troublemaker swami le, to come back once
more, but aerwards le permanently. I later learned that these two
swamis had once stayed under one Guru, and so were really gurubhais . A
few months went by in peace. But this new man who had come as a savior
was also an efficient manipulator, and started picking contacts around very
quickly. I thought that this socializing would help him handle the devotees
well with his experience and knowledge. But the undercurrent was
otherwise. He started extending his tentacles in another way. One day my
sanyasi disciple Swami Omkaranand came with disturbing news that this
new incumbent swami had started some kind of business in the ashram,
but in the pretence of doing ‘samaj seva ’ or service to society. He was
casting horoscopes of people from nearby villages, doing sorcery, selling
navaratna gems as horoscope remedies, and giving medicines for
unwanted purpose. e ashram had turned into a business establishment.
Activities contrary to the basic motto of the ashram were being observed.
At rst when I noticed that he was oen surrounded by many people, I
thought this was because he was dispensing spiritual advice, or conducting
satsang . But with close observation, I realized they were not participating
in satsang but were his ‘customers’. From old devotees and from villagers
too, I came to know that this swami was earning a good amount from his
side business. By now, there was a growing demand from those staunchly
spiritual people who had helped establish and were supporting the ashram,
to get rid of this swami. Ignoring their demand did not appear a sound idea
for the welfare of the ashram. I was now a x, not being the kind of person
who can easily utter the word ‘no’ and get out of a situation pretending
apology. is was going to be as painful as labour pains for me. So for days I
rehearsed asking this swami to nd himself a new market, and let the
ashram remain a hermitage. Finally, aer accumulating some courage, of
course with the help of Omkaranand, I requested him to nd some other
suitable place to stay. When this came to light to the public, his clients were
infuriated. ese were his so called ‘bene ciaries’ who were getting
horoscope read, xing dates for marriages, or getting ‘navaratna ’ rings
from him. is group supporting that swami rose up in revolt and behaved
a little roughly with me. But the traditional support prevailed, and the
swami had to leave the ashram for a distant place. Misinterpreting the
message, the old devil came back to the village some days later, and even
started frequenting oen. Even though he dared not oppose me face to
face, he was rearing enmity on the side, playing politics and the result was a
little dangerous.
One day, it so happened that one of that swami’s ‘wellwisher’ came to the
ashram at evening pooja aarathi time. He was fully drunk, and started
calling out abusive words at me, and tried to break the temple door and
throw away the pooja paatras . At this some of the villagers assembled
together and sent him back. e next day I called for the village panchayat
to meet to discuss what was to be done next. Since the culprit who had
used obscene words and damaged the temple belongings was a close
relative of some of the committee members of the governing body of the
temple, hence relationship tool an upper hand over justice.
is seemingly insigni cant incident brought a virtual confrontation with
some of the important entities of the setup. Finally, I decided to withdraw
from the scene once and for all. is came as a shock to the devotees in my
innermost circle, though they have remained rock solid in their devotion
till today. ese disciples were not in agreement with my decision to leave
that ashram forever, I was adamant. Once again I called a panchayat
meeting to inform them of my decision. Before leaving, I also wanted to
have that person do a prayaschitta pooja to the deities for his paapa , so
that his family or villagers were not affected from his sins. In a day or two
they arranged for the prayaschitta pooja , and I arranged for its cost of
more than seventy ve lakhs, which I collected by ‘begging’ money from my
disciples from all over India. Handing over everything to Omkarananda, I
declared him my successor. I then le the ashram as if nothing had
happened, just as I had entered the village one day long ago, with the same
single shoulder bag, my kappar , and kamandal that I carried when I
arrived there.

10 Details on Nadanandaji stay and work at Jaunsar Bawar is given in Autobiography of an

Avadhoota —Volume 1
 The Parasite Guruji

M
   the rather secret law of nature. Every
being in the whole of creation, not just of this world, is
dependent on each other. For, the Almighty is divided into two
parts as Uma and Maheswara, and there was delight in this dependency—
nature and spirit as inverse and complementary to each other. We, the
created, are unable to understand the order behind this arrangement. e
difficulty is in our understanding, and not in the arrangement. Every being
here exists along with the other beings, and none of them can survive
alone, or try to eliminate or dominate the other. Especially in the life of a
human being, this is a truth apparent. e four pillars of the Vedic concept
of society, the four ashrams or stages of life, were designed to help humans
evolve in mutual harmony till the attainment of the ultimate goal. In the
process of evolution, those in a particular ashram at a particular point in
time, should not make the blunder of asserting that their own stage or
ashram is independent of the others. Just as give and take is a part of life,
dependency is also a part of life. So the tendency to regard any other living
being or any resource as irrelevant to oneself, is in fact self-destructive.
Once I was travelling from Guwahati to Delhi by train on a second class
a/c ticket which one of my disciples had reserved for me. e train was
about to leave the station. Two young militarymen who looked like officers,
entered into the coupe where I was seated. ey were carrying with them a
lot of heavy luggage. When they saw me, a sanyasi sitting in an a/c
compartment, these guardians of citizens were unable to bear it. e
founders of post-independent India rose to power by minting and selling
the fake coin of equality, but how they de ned that ‘equality’, they have
never speci ed. But impostors are now rolling in money, money they
received as favor from the government, and the country is reeling in
distress from their incompetency and degeneracy. e militarymen glanced
at me as if they had spotted some kind of extraordinary animal. While
arranging their luggage one of these great Indian liabilities said, “Hey baba
, this may not be your compartment. is is 2nd class AC compartment.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed and kept quiet, deciding to relish their expressions of
agitated arrogance a little, and buried myself in the book in my hand. is
infuriated them more. I thought these two might have thought me a
helpless, wandering sadhu traveling without a ticket and with no
knowledge of railway traveling class (1st , 2nd, general etc).
Now displaying their own lack of class and decency, one of them added,
“Baba, you are not hearing me—I told you didn’t I, to go to the general
compartment.” ey had already taken their seats in front of me that had
been allotted to them. My external appearance was not very impressive, as I
was returning from a long journey of several months. Matted hair, beard,
old worn out kashaya clothes, without a proper bath for days—all these
made me naturally look almost like a beggar. If those had been the times of
British rule with imposed dress codes, I surely would not have been eligible
to travel looking the way I did. But now I was in free India, founded upon
the yet-unrealized principles of equality by opportunistic leaders. e rst
officer was telling the other in coarse English, “Such baggers are polluting
our country they like parasites and kamaying (earning) money. And if time
and situation favors, stealing also.” I replied in English, “I also have been
blessed by God with a clean mouth and pure speech. I beg that you
gentlemen take note of this. Yes, I may be a parasite, and perhaps a beggar
or thief. But don’t worry, I have a valid a/c ticket up to Delhi. And if at all
there is an event of the, you can trace me back to my ashram and this is
my visiting card.” I tendered them a new visiting card. eir faces grew pale
with astonishment. ey were thinking, “Oh, thes baba nows Englesh
aalsu.” By this time the ticket examiner entered into the compartment. e
train was now moving and while handing over my ticket to him for
checking, I asked the ticket examiner, “Sir, is there any law in the railways
that a beggar like me is not allowed to travel in the a/c compartment even if
he possess a valid ticket?” Before checking my ticket, the ticket collector
touched my feet with reverence and did namaskar and asked, “What is the
problem, Swamiji? Why you are shooting such a question?” I replied,
“Nothing in particular of course. Just that these gentlemen in special
clothing are intimidating me into vacating this compartment.” I could very
well see the furtive eyes on the pale and frozen faces of those military
officers. e ticket examiner while checking the tickets admonished them
to behave properly. Aer the TT reprimanded them, they were cringing.
e train had crossed the river Brahmaputra and a heavy, disturbing and
mortuary-like silence hung in the coupe. I took out the book ‘Ashtavakra
Geeta ’ in English, from my shoulder bag and started to read. When I
ignored their very presence, the two military officers seemed very disturbed
and wanting to make amends for otherwise the journey might end up in
sorts of sandbag-carrying. One of them taking him the initiative, stood up
and touched my feet and pleaded apology, “Maharajji, we have done a
mistake. We should not have spoken to you like that.” I said to them, “No
problem brothers, it all happens when you assess a person based on his
external appearance, or value someone on the quality of his clothing. You
people with modern education have only super uous vision of anybody.”
Now the other officer also stood up and started soliciting pardon for the
mistake. A coffee vendor appeared and they ordered three cups of coffee
and offered one to me, and the situation eased off from deterioration. As if
nothing had happened, I started sipping the coffee. en we started
exchanging pleasantries, etc.
is has however become the trend in today’s education, where they
teach how to assess based on outward appearance. ere is neither the time
nor the patience to go a little further and dive a little deeper to gauge the
reality. is is why people keep adding enemies in their lives. ey presume
themselves intelligent enough to assess others easily with just one look, and
nd it unnecessary to respect others’ sentiments. is is the way others are
assessed: with just a look, we are ready to jump to a conclusion about a
person in front of us. It need not always be correct. e external
appearance may be bad or odd, but before using hard words with anybody,
we have to hear him out rst. Analyze him or try to understand him rst.
Presumption always hurts.
I invoked Rishi Ashtavakra to drive home my points. e officers had
now trained their ears towards me with newfound zeal. It happened thus
with one Maharshi Ashtavakra a saint of great repute of his era, who once
entered the court of the great King Janaka in an informal way. He was
named thus because his body had eight (ashta ) deformities. e scholars
in the court, jealous of his repute dishonored him by laughing at his entry
in the king’s court. Ashtavakra also laughed uproariously in response. King
Janaka wanted to know Ashtavakra’s reason for laughing, because he
understood the reason for the others’ laughing, which was on account of
his looks. Ashtavakra Maharshi said, “I had heard that Janaka’s court was
lled with enlightened ones. But here I see only butchers and cobblers by
default. at is why I laughed.” At hearing this, all were annoyed with
Ashtavakra. Janaka asked him again to elaborate. Ashtavakra said,
“Maharaja, butchers value the meat on a body, and cobblers value the skin.
And I see the same happening here. Your people in court have given me
external evaluation—looking at my body twisted and bent eight ways, my
dirty clothes, my dry wrinkled skin etc. No one saw the wisdom hidden in
me, is it not? None of you has even tried to see the wisdom in me. is is
the reason why I laugh.” Struck by this, Janaka accepted Ashtavakra as his
Guru. And the other assembly dissolved.
I narrated this story to the military officers, which was an eye-opener to
them. Aer this turnaround, they displayed more and more interest in
hearing me throughout the journey. I also took this opportunity to plant
the seeds of knowledge as much as possible, so they might sprout at the
opportune time of rain aer the drought. Till we reached Delhi, there was
plenty of such satsang and to my wonder, they never allowed me to pay for
my food etc., during the journey. Before reaching Delhi, I wanted to
reimburse them for the expenses they had incurred on my behalf, and said,
“Even though we have travelled together for two days and there was a lot
of conversation, I still do not think or feel that the impression in your
minds about sadhus has changed. You think of us parasites that suck and
live lavishly off the money swindled from devotees and disciples. Heck, you
make sure that we pay even for every drop of water we take, and
sometimes several times more than its worth. e world takes more and
gives less, but we . . . .we take less and give more.”
“You people have no knowledge of the knowledge we have bartered for
this life. When you do not know anything about a currency, you must not
think of appraising it, shopping or dealing with it, or make allegations about
its value. We give our service to the society for very little in return. Society
owes a lot even to an insigni cant sadhu , let alone the so-called gurus .
You do not have any knowledge of our capacity to give to humanity. Try to
understand what we sadhus are doing for humanity, and for the nation.
You guard the borders of the nation, but we guard the minds of disciples
and devotees, and of humanity itself. We never allow our devotees’ minds
to cross the border and go to the land of evil. We teach them this art of
safety.”
e train arrived at Delhi railway station and we were all ready to alight.
At the platform, one of them took my Jammu Ashram’s address, and we all
separated to our own ways.
To my surprise one among the pair of military officer came up to my
Jammu ashram in search of me a few months later. He had been
transferred somewhere near the region. On the next Guru Poornima, I
initiated him with mantra deeksha, and he became a disciple of the sincere
kind who tried and gained deeper understanding in spirituality.
So my appeal hereby to the world is this: do not practice, nor encourage
the habit of undermining the importance of spirituality in human life. Do
not misjudge spiritual people from their simple looks, or misinterpret
religious symbols either. e attitude of irreverence to spirituality can cause
irreparable damage to the whole of humanity and any hasty decision from
such an attitude is a sin equal to negation of life itself. So do not entertain
such anti-life attitudes, and withdraw support to them. If anyone wants to
see the world happy, this is the real service to humanity anyone can do.
 Bhagavadajjuka 11 —The story of a prostitute
and a Sanyasi

T
   some wounds in my mind, the results of
unfounded hostility still green in memory. I tried medicines of sorts
to dry and heal them, but the in ictors of those wounds were
adamant in making them ooze. Once, when the memories went back and
touched that same corner of the mind, I could see very well that the
wound was yet to dry up, and needed intense care.
I was in Haridwar, staying in an ashram , young then in my thirties. I was
busy in routines of different aspects of saadhana like purascharan . e
studies in Vedanta were also progressing well. Aer dinner I would walk
along the banks of the Ganga daily, (in most ashrams in Haridwar etc. the
dinner or evening bhiksha is served between four and six pm), as a habit.
Sometimes I walked with like-minded sadhus , and sometimes alone. I
liked to pause and sit at a particular ghat , simply brooding on my thoughts
etc. On one such walk, I saw a girl in her teens sitting at the same ghat. She
was looking into space, with soiled and gloomy face, tears in her eyes. I
thought rst that she was perhaps a devotee of Ma Ganga, like Meera.
Oen one can see such scenes of drama in drawings of comic books, and I
thought this too might be one such case. But the indications didn’t match.
Since such a scene has also been the prelude to many a suicide attempt, a
compassion of unknown origin sprang in my heart. Aer my mind had
exhausted itself from nding alternative explanations, gathering some
courage, I went near and asked the reason for the crying, weeping, shaking
and all. At rst she shot at me a lot of arrows of suspicion, of course by
glance. en I perceived a ray of trust. She told me her cinema-like story:
she hailed from some village in interior Uttarakhand, had studied up to
high school, possessed an eye-catching body, came in search of a job of
dignity, but society had cast her into prostitution. She stayed on the other
side of the Ganga with a distant relative, an old lady who had also been in
the same profession previously. e girl told me she was disgusted with her
place in life, and she wanted to end it all by jumping into the Ganga. But
the memory of her ailing parents, for whom she was lone breadwinner and
support, was dragging her back from such an action, and yet the other side
was hell.
I have always been a sentimental fool and hearing her story, became very
upset. It is strange indeed in this world that people are never ready to share
even an iota of their happiness with others, but unhesitatingly make you
the lone successor to not only their sins, sorrow, pains, sufferings,
sometimes even of their ancestors, in a single will without a power of
attorney! People would have de nitely ridiculed me if they had seen me
talking with that girl for long. But at rst sight itself, an affinity towards her
had developed in my mind. We used to meet daily at the same time, at the
same ghat. My boat of saadhana was heading for shallow waters, a bit
disturbed, earning me stigma points among friends. Even then I remained
true to my conscience, for the inclination towards that girl was not at all
carnal. e shared pain transformed into affection, forming a crystal in my
mind. Even at that time I was unable to make a meaning from this, since
my faculties of comprehensive understanding were immature and unripe, I
was almost a child at that time. Somewhere from some literature I had read
in the past, came up the phrase—‘an unknown feeling of pain in heart
towards someone is called love’. Love always happens between hearts
willing to share happiness. Not even God will share anybody’s pain, or
promise to rid of it completely. Let no one live under the illusion that one
day God will descend to share their sins, pains, and misdeeds. But if we
show acceptance of our situation, God always helps us reduce our pains,
and also helps multiply our happiness if we share it. us I was wondering
with painful confusion if that’s where I was heading to. I had nothing to do
with that poor girl. ough I had heard her story many times, there was no
sympathy but a sweet unfamiliar pain in my mind. I requested some
shopkeepers I knew to employ the girl as a sales girl in their shop, but none
did.
Our relationship grew deeper as days passed. We both felt restless if we
failed to meet an evening. But I never had any urge to nd what her
feelings towards me were. My mind was almost disturbed out of bounds
though, and nally I decided to do something favorable for her and relieve
my mind of its turbulence, in case the so-called ‘yoga bhrashtatha ’
happens.
By chance someone introduced me to a sanyasini of repute who was also
head of a mahila ashram , exclusively for women. An idea clicked in my
mind and I narrated to that matadhipathi , in moving detail, the pathetic
story of that girl. But that sanyasini remained impassive. So I did another
saptaaha (long narration) of the same story, and she melted a little,
changing from unmoving to reluctant. A ray of hope had appeared. She
was still hesitant to take in a prostitute into her ashram as inmate. e next
day I went to meet the matadhipathi sanyasini again with a more updated
version of the issue, and aer long discussions and arguments, my efforts
nally paid off. I had convinced her to give the girl a new lease of life but
her condition was that the girl be initiated into sanyasa prior and that she
lead a life of strict discipline thereaer.
Now the ball was in my court. It was my turn to persuade that teenage
girl. She of enticing body who had traveled a long way on the highway of
exploited sensuality in a fancy car, where she had not been able to nd a
single drop of what she had really wanted: to walk on the footpaths
between country elds, bare-footed too. at was the meaning of the
situation developing around us. e next day when I met her on the ghat ,
I openly told her to leave the ‘pig sty’ and enter in a new life of ‘bhagava
(fortunate, blessed).’ She was not ready to accept it as her logic was very
different. She said, “Look swamiji , I am a patita (fallen woman). I don’t
want to pollute that pavitra ( purity) ashram and its inmates with my
negativity. Don’t ask me to do this, it is impossible.” I tried to convince her
by telling her, “Punya , and all other concepts of dvandva or duality, arise
only from the play of the mind. ough you may consider your body
apavitra or impure, your atma or soul is not. e atma , or the chaitanya is
ever pure and shuddha . Now if you insist that you have erred, you then
have to do something to wash off that before your lifespan is exhausted and
you have to move on. And even if you do not believe in rebirth, but want
to see the face of peace, not wishing to live the same pig-sty kind of life,
then this is the best option given by Ma Ganga, because she too is a woman
knowing a woman’s heart best. So clean up your sins with a positive mind,
doing japa and lead a strict disciplined life. You will be saved from narakas
. Paschathaapam (repentance) is the greatest form of praayaschittam
(atonement) . Do repent on the deeds, or karmas done so far. Bathe in the
holy Ganga with repentance, say goodbye to the world of exploitation and
come with me to that ashram .’
It was about to be dusk. She was in silence for some time and disappeared
into the darkness. at day I sat there for a few hours. I took it too much to
heart, thinking about the failure of my mission and role as a savior in giving
a new life. ere were tears in my eyes from the sincere yearning of my
heart that she be able to lead a life of dignity for the rest of her life. e
possessiveness was such that any bystander would take it as love only. is
dawned in my mind only aer the problem had been solved and the
intoxication come down. Yet there was the undercurrent of positive
thought in my mind in wanting to save that poor girl from the darker side
of life.
e next morning while I was bathing in the Ganga, I spotted the girl at a
distance away. She had appeared, out of routine in the morning, and came
and sat near me on the ghat, waiting for me to complete my bath. But I felt
a little irritated at her presence and without paying much notice to her, I
started moving towards the road. I heard a sound from behind, the sacred
word I wanted to hear from her mouth—the certi cate of recognition of
my efforts—“Bhayya , (brother) just wait. I am here to obey your orders.
Please take me to the ashram where I can get that safe and secure life.
Ganga mata ki kasam , I will never look back, as you said, or even
remember the dark life I have lived so far.” I was moved when she called
me ‘Bhayya ’. Since I’ve always been a sentimental fool, I wept taking her
hands into mine. We both walked towards that ashram and as per the
mathadipati ’s conditions, I entrusted her in her hands. I rejoiced as one of
my missions had ended in success.
Aer a few years, once aer I had settled at the Jammu ashram, during
one of my visits to Haridwar, I met her in kashaya . She was standing on
the banks of Ganga with one of her guru behens . Approaching her, I
looked to her face and asked, “Do you remember me?” It took a minute or
so for her to recollect me. “Oh, Bhayya”, she cried out, but this time out of
happiness. Aer so many years, Ganga mata had given us the chance to
meet again. She said, “Bhayya , you, only you are the reason for this new
avatar of mine. You have saved my life.”
Once again I had tears in my eyes. But this time the tears were of joy, or
aanandaashru . Ganga mayya ki jai .

11 e chapter contains a story which resembles a street drama hence Avadhoota Nadananda names
this Bhagavadajjuka, aer the doctrine of a great saint of historical times, Bodhayana.
 Experience Oneness

I
   cloudy winter morning and a cold wind ows gently down the
Himalayan glaciers. Here the Ganga ows quietly, her waters crystal
clear and her gait, gajagamini- like, slow. e sound of omkar
reverberates from a bell ringing in a distant temple. e calm and serene
atmosphere around is as if time itself is in deep meditation. ere is the
chanting sound of mantras from the neighbouring ashram . e elevating
smell of the smoke from the just-concluded evening havan (offering in the
holy re) was around and cold wind ceases blowing for a moment. Yes,
this is Uttarakashi, where I am now, the abode and con uence of great
minds. Of sincere, serious and dedicated seekers (sadhakas ) of all branches
of the Vedic stream, Vedanta, Tantra, Bhakti etc. Uttarakashi is as well
known among sanyasis like Kashi and Rishikesh are. Kashi is the seat of
learning. It is natural aer learning to have to practice it, and the word
‘uttara’ means ‘aer’, ‘further’ etc. So Uttara kashi is the place to go aer the
learning is done. If Kashi is the seat of learning, then Uttara Kashi is the
abode of experience. e ecology and topography here itself is such that it
is very conducive for contemplation. Contemplation in the initial stages can
be very difficult. To recognize, comprehend, and establish what has been
learnt and to practice meditation requires some effort. e calm, peaceful,
and serene atmosphere in Uttarakashi attracts serious sadhakas to the lap of
the Himalayas. Everywhere one sees ashrams of sorts, Veda mantras ,
satsangs , and chanting are heard, and Mother Ganga dances in ecstasy at
this, her waves of purity blessing the shores.
I remember well those days when I was staying at Kailash Ashram in
Ujjaily, on the outskirts of the town, a few kilometers towards Gangotri.
Most of the sadhu-sanyasis staying there, subsist on the bhiksha (daily dose
of food) provided by the various annakshetras . ey move in groups,
called mandalis for collecting bhiksha and it is an eye-purifying visual on
the roads during morning times—groups of kashaya -clad sadhus parading
to Kali Kambaliwala, Punjab, Sindh or Dandi ashrams. Aer collecting their
daily due of food, they either proceed to the banks of Ganga, or any ghat,
to sit there and partake of the food. Or otherwise, a few would take their
food (roti, dal, rice, sabji ) to their rooms, and enhance the taste of the dal a
little by seasoning, or pouring on a little ghee and consume. As I was in
Kailash ashram, I used to take my morning and evening food at the ashram
itself. Very rarely did I go for bhiksha .
Swami Umanandji was the ‘Kothari’ (caretaker) of the ashram—a nice
man who taught me to chant the Shiva Mahimna Stotram , the official
prayer of sanyasis , a unique experience worth mentioning. I was not
familiar with this prayer then, since my circle of saadhana was mostly
centered around Devi . It was not like I had any hate for it or anything, it
was just that the situation had never risen that I might pursue it seriously.
e ‘Mahimna stotram ’ is considered equal to Rudri and is part of the strict
routine as evening prayer in all sanyas ashrams in Northern India, and now
in other places as well they have started emulating this practice. In the
evening aer the concluding arati all the inmates of the ashram sit together
to do the Mahimna Paath in a mesmerizing rhythm. So naturally in Kailash
Ashram, Uttarakashi, which is a purely sanyasi -oriented place, it was
inevitable. All the other sadhus took it for granted, that I being well-
lettered, garbed in kashaya, handsome to look at, would surely know it.
Nobody ever cared to con rm this either. When others chanted in full
rapture, I used to keep quiet closing my eyes, and pretended to chant, by
moving my lips. But I was not able to escape for long. I felt too embarrassed
to tell anybody that I didn’t know how to chant it, and the ego, refused to
acknowledge anyone as guru too. At last one day I came under the radar-
like eyes of a swamiji , who observed in me the black hole. He summoned
me to his room, got me to vomit out the truth, and gave a good scold,
typical of a reputed vedantin . I le hanging my head in shame and on my
way out, stumbled upon Swami Umanandji, the Kothari of that ashram.
When he asked for the reason, I told him what had happened. He patted
me on my back, and with hand around my shoulders, took me to his room
where he handed me a book with the Shiv Mahimna Stotram in it. He
asked me to follow his tune and rhythm of chanting, and asked me to
repeat twice what he had recited. He took out a good one hour of his time
on a cold night to teach me with much affection. I returned to my room
with wounded ego and a resolve and determination sprang from the
innermost realms of my being. A voice within was saying—“Why do you
worry, you can memorize it overnight.” At rst I thought I was
hallucinating, but it was a voice of con dence. I tossed and turned on my
bed for some time, then got up and decided to try for a bit, till I memorized
one or two verses. I was on shaky grounds initially, but an unknown faith
had revived me and I continued, memorizing the verses one by one. I did
not feel sleepy, did not glance at my watch even once through the night,
and no one will believe it was ve in the morning, but I was already on top
of Everest. So the lunchtime came, and I saw the swamiji, who had bruised
my ego. He also was a Malayali, a well-known Vedanti of that time who
commanded great respect even among advanced scholars, and had an
ashram at Amarkantak. He stared at me as if I were a worm. I just drank
that venom and kept quiet. To avoid any further friction, I went to my
room with the staunch decision to learn it and did a few more readings. It
was evening and time for the Mahimna , and everyone sat down to chant. I
sat in the last row. e chanting was going on smoothly. In the Mahimna
stotra, there are a few such verses, and places and lines, where if you are
not careful, you will keep on chanting the same thing. So all of a sudden
right in the middle everyone made a mistake and lost the link. And to my
surprise even the radar-like swamiji too. But mine was the lone voice that
was chanting on without any interruptions, like I was the oldest and most
expert chanter there, with a sweeter voice grace of my Mother. It was from
me that all others got the missing link to continue and complete the
chanting. But the swamiji was staring at me open-jawed in astonishment.
Now he invited (the previous day he had summoned) me to his room. He
shook his head, his eyes full of amazement and complimented me for
chanting with utmost care and beauty without the help of the book. And
he wanted to know how I had accomplished this feat overnight. I told him
that it was just his blessings in disguise that a whole night’s practice had
made me memorize it. Swamiji said, “You Malayalis are very dangerous.
Until you are hurt, you will do nothing. But if somebody touches your ‘ego,’
you Malayalis become erce. Come and sit by me.” I sat near him, and he
blessed me and started telling me the deep meaning of each and every
verse. Of course he was an invincible authority on the scriptures and when
Umanandji came to call both of us for bhiksha , swamiji was still lost, deep
in the Samadhi of explanation, and I lost in the Samadhi of listening, to
complete his vyakhya interpretation of the stotram . Once he nished, I
thanked him with pranaams and said, “Swamiji, you have certainly proved
that Malayali sanyasis are determined. I retaliated by memorizing the
stotram overnight. And you have completed the discourse in one sitting.” I
knew that he was also from Kerala. (Usually sanyasis never disclose their
poorvashram name or place or date of birth, as it is irrelevant to others).
e point I want to drive home here is: our mind is made up of so many
faculties of learning, storing, reproducing, retrieving, and updating (sixteen
such are counted in shodasi vidyas in tantra ). So it is to be remembered
that the capturer of them all is the memory. Whether we in our life keep
clean any other faculty or not, we must try to keep this faculty as young as
that of a child. If not, there is no use, whatever high position you have,
your life will be just a waste.
Another memorable incident also occurred in Uttarakashi that le me
inconclusive of certain basics of spirituality. ough I had come across
many kinds and categories of sadhaks, some even established at the top,
one among them perplexed yet appealed to me. Whenever I crossed
through the marketplace to purchase something, or went for bhiksha , or
for a walk, I would see a middle-aged swamiji sitting under a tree at a
particular place near Kailash ashram, by the Ganga. He never changed the
spot, always in a different mood of his own altogether. ough he was clad
in rags, his stunningly bright eyes were characteristic of a great soul.
Whenever I passed by him, I use to pay a courtesy glance. One day by
chance or by destiny, I observed a big wound lled with oozing pus on his
le leg, just near the knee. He sat looking at that wound with a smile on his
face, as if he were in ecstasy. I felt that I should go and do seva to that saint
and so I went to the market and purchased some cotton, soframycin
powder, a small bottle of Dettol, and some bandages and walked up to him.
As usual he was sitting looking at the wound and smiling. I sat near him,
but he ignored me as if I was not there. I just did my namaskars to that
saint and touched his feet with a prayer to allow me to clean and dress his
wound. When I touched his feet, he pulled his leg back with a jerk, and to
my shock one or two worms fell down. Immediately the swamiji shouted,
“What you have done, you fool!” He started crying loudly as if some of his
near and dear ones had died. I was wondering what had happened. He
scolded me, “You fool—you have thrown them away! ey were happily
having their food in that wound. You sinner! ink twice before you act.”
With utmost care and affection, he took the small worms in his hands and
placed them back on the wound and smiled again. He sat in silence for
some time and looked at me as if asking me to get lost. Slowly I stood up
and walked away, and threw the medicines and bandages with a prayer to
Ganga Mata. e medicine plunged into the water but not my worry that I
had disturbed that great avadhoota saint in his ecstatic moments, and I
hoped he would not curse me. Everything happened due to my lack of
proper understanding at that point of my saadhana, about the various
states of the saints and their attitudes towards this world. ere were a lot
of questions in my mind about the veracity of such saadhana and states etc.
My mind had fooled me and I was not satis ed with my own
understanding. en the radar-vision swamiji came to mind and I
approached him with reverence, for he is a master on his own accord, and
narrated to him the incident.
“Nadanadaji,” with love and concern he started explaining, “it is very
good that you have attempted service with good faith and regard. But you
must remember one thing while serving sadhus. eir attitude towards the
body is entirely different from that of worldly people. Common people in
the world of sensual satisfaction, want to cure the body in the hope of
extracting from it more enjoyment of any type, till the last breath is
reached. But when sadhus attempt a cure, it is only to keep the body in
order, so that it helps them as a vehicle to reach deeper and wider in
accessing the subtler areas of self-knowledge. ere is no point in spending
money on a junk car. Another thing to know is that just enduring a pain in
the body is not going to take you to enlightenment—this is not a norm or
standard that we should accept or propagate. I interrupted to ask how it
was then that in the Chandogya Upanishad, it is stated that, Samvarga
Vidya is the greatest state of attainment, which was imparted to King
Janasruti by sage Raikva who appears as a cart driver. at sage too was like
this mahatma , with in amed sores all over his body, and he is considered
one of the greatest avadhootas of the Upanishads, and how was he different
from this one. Swamiji was now in his element, and started explaining.
“Look,” he said, “the actual state of mind of the avadhoota, and that of
another person merely practicing or reenacting his behavior aer hearing
about it, are different. is mahatma might have heard that story, and it
probably made a deep impression on his psychology, and so he adopted it
in his life. It is an isolated kind of thinking. If such things become standard
procedure or behavior for attainment of enlightenment, then everyone
would be nursing wounds, and will all creatures with wounds become
realized? It is all right that you went in good faith to serve an ailing soul.
His mindset did not permit that service, and there ends that story. Whether
he is supposed to suffer, whether it was a state of greatness etc. are all
useless considerations till we get clear supporting data about him. So, why
do you take it too much to the heart and are so gloomy? So goes the saying,
‘Serve the needy.’ Before serving we must rst establish that the needs are
genuine, and aimed towards seeking of knowledge. Seva in order to feed
your ego or helping sensual grati cation is not service. Without proper
understanding of this, you will be diverting the source of help in the wrong
direction. Helping the undeserving is another irrevocable sin. If this
mahatma is choosing to endure all this as a saadhana , let him carry on.
is is allowed in our scriptures, and we should not interfere in his choice
of saadhana . If he solicits help, we can certainly attend to it within our
capacity.”
e clouds had become dense, and the wind ceased to blow. All of a
sudden it started to rain. e heavy downpour gave relief to the clouds.
And my heart felt the same way, like the clouds. It lasted only a few
minutes and the sky cleared. ere were no clouds anymore. I felt the
freshness of nature around me, and a renewal inside me as well!
Sometimes when a new sadhak comes across such extreme behaviors, he
might mistake it for an advanced state of attainment. However, it need not
necessarily be so. One can still choose to adopt such an attitude as an
isolated practice, but the attitude need not necessarily subdue the mind.
Take care that you not develop ego, basking in the name and fame that
might result from such behavior. It is a rule that any calculated,
premeditated suppression and endurance of suffering only takes one into
the opposite indulgence. It will not help in purifying the karmic residues.
at is why it can be seen that some sanyasis become wealthy later, due to
the ego’s payoff of their sufferings in the rst stage of saadhana .
 Mud On My Face

I
   life as a sanyasi, one of the enlightenments I got was that a
sanyasi should be very cautious in their behavior and reactions.
Especially a sanyasi leading a life of service to society, should be very
deliberate and conscious at each and every step. Otherwise he will end up
wasting his time in answering, and clarifying questions and doubts of the
ignorant, immature, and irrelevant people. ey are the ones always
looking for some insufficiency in you, so they can defame the whole system
and establish themselves as nearer to godhood. ey intend to hurt with
razor-sharp thoughts, words and deeds.
During one of my stays at my Jammu ashram, I unexpectedly fell sick due
to some unattended cardiac problems. is was my second episode of a
cardiac arrest. It was a cold December night and chilly wind was blowing. I,
along with Madanlal, Sharmaji, and Omprakashji were in a car going to the
railway station. I had to catch the train to Mumbai, as per my schedule, and
they were coming along to see me off. On the way in the car I experienced
severe throbbing chest pain. ey took me directly to a doctor who
admitted me in a private hospital in Pathankot, a city in Punjab. I was put
under sedation, and other medicines were also administered. By morning I
felt some ease. e next day some of my disciples and devotees from the
village learned about this, and came to the hospital to visit and wish me a
speedy recovery. As the attack this time was much severe than the previous
one, the doctor advised hospitalization for nine days. I was discharged on
the tenth day with instructions to be in bed rest for at least one month. I
was carried back to the ashram , but le alone to fend for myself. I was
weak, and so debilitated that I was even unable to walk up to the bathroom
by myself etc. One of my disciples, a middle-aged lady, volunteered to take
care of my needs in spite of responsibilities to her large family. Her husband
used to come and stay in my room to care for me, during the nights. Days
passed with medicines, rest and aer a month or so, I felt better. Now I
could move on my own and take care of my personal needs. I thanked that
couple and requested them to now take leave and attend to their
household, and that I would take care of myself. But they declined, as I
was still weak. One day, a few other disciples and devotees gathered
together and assembled around me to discuss my health. ey were all
praising the lady who had served me for the last one month.
Some people cannot bear to hear another person being praised, this seems
to be a rule of humankind. One of the ladies, an old woman sitting among
them, became agitated and furious, and started accusing the lady, saying,
“Are you not ashamed of taking a young man (me) to the bathroom, and
giving him a bath etc. You should have felt that this was inappropriate.
Why did you do this? In this village there are many young boys and men.
None of them came forward to do any seva like this? I have doubts about
your character.” I rst thought it was a slip of the tongue. ere was an
uncomfortable silence in the room for a few minutes. I was shocked to hear
this, and never expected such a thing. It had been in good faith, and the
whole family was present. And the villagers sitting near were glancing at
each other. But none had any clue about what to say in reply, or the
courage to come forward in the lady’s support, such was the height of
ignorance of these people, who I had been wishing and dreaming to make
prosperous in all elds of life!
e gem-like lady, I would call her so, who had been in my seva,
exhibited such valor and acumen in such a situation. Without losing her
faith and devotion in me, she replied without even an iota of shock and
perplexity, “Look mataji , you have much respect and status among us. is
type of short-sighted behavior is unbecoming of you. And in dragging
someone through mud this way, you will only lose the high regard that you
currently have. It is a Guruji that I serve. Aer someone is accepted as
guru, the status of that relationship becomes much higher than any other
worldly relationship. It’s not just me, no one else in my family has viewed
our Guru at par with an ordinary relative; He is viewed only at par with
God himself ! ough he may exist in a male body, my Guruji is verily
‘Amma ’ (the Mother Goddess) to me. Your talk is about my serving him
for just these few days—why, if such a necessity arises, we will place our
entire live at his feet, at his disposal. I feel sorry for you, that you are
unable to view the truth of him with your eyes. To me, getting to do seva to
my Guruji is just like offering pooja to God, and no one under these skies
has any business poking their nose in it. We took up this task voluntarily,
and consider ourselves fortunate that Guruji even permitted us.” Aer this
speech, there was a deep hush all around. Most of the people sitting around
listening showed deep appreciation at the fearless, timely, and apt response
of the lady with the golden heart who had served me. e baseless
allegation caused me a lot of distress, even a little anger, but I did not say
anything.
But the next day onwards the rumor mills were lled with stories about
the incident, and allegations being made all over the village about relations
between me and that lady. It is surprising that in this world every kind of
person nds a sponsor. It is naive to think that only good actions are being
sponsored. In post-independent India, in fact it is much more of the anti-
social, anti-human, anti-national, and immoral kind of thinking that has
been sponsored, rather than any genuine case of rights violations. e old
lady doing the slandering also had some sponsors, in the form of new
religious preachers, who were looking to establish hold upon these
innocent people. ese preachers were in reality anti-Vedic—preaching
against our established and well tested system of spirituality, and against
the Gods and the Brahmins. I was a thorn in the esh to them. ey drew
the greedy lady into their network and trained her to launch the insult
campaign that was actually targeted at me and my way of preaching. At rst
I was unaware of this angle but later gleaned it from the feedback I
received. But it was really unfortunate that some kind-hearted people were
hurt in the incident, due to some other people’s de ciency of seeing things
in correct perspective and their lack of patience in cross-checking details. It
is the very nature of some people to take decisions and jump to
conclusions, or form opinions on situations, surroundings, visuals, etc.,
without rst evaluating the power of their own intelligence. We are so
arrogant in our own abilities to reason, and believe that there is nothing
beyond those capacities of ours. is is the main reason for all the con icts
that prevail in today’s society. So it is necessary that we develop the art of
cross-checking the available data and information. Information processing
is called viveka or discrimination and if you have viveka, it will keep you in
peace. Otherwise a lot of time is wasted in dealing with allegations and
counter allegations, and nothing constructive comes of it though it is sure
to give you never-ending pain. I then told the lady who had been in my
seva , “Stay here for a few more days. Let what may happen, your husband
knows the truth well. You need not go to your home now. Let them
continue their propaganda. When they are tired they will stop it.” at lady,
her husband, and I stayed for a few more days together.
When my health had improved, my disciples insisted on convening a
satsang . ey wanted to clear the air feeling that the village was becoming
divided from the behind-the-scene activities of the anti-religious elements.
e campaign of these cunning elements was to instigate, persuade, and
attract increasing numbers to adopt that new religion. Almost all my
devotees in the village and surrounding areas attended the satsang, where I
gave a tting reply to all those who had criticized me and that old lady too
managed to attend the satsang without any sense of guilt. I told them to
remove the black glasses obscuring their vision, which they had received in
donation from the anti-Vedic elements, who had hoped these good people
would end up following them in spite their higher social order. I told them
not to fall for the divisive tactics disguised as bhakti, for one day the
division may become so much that you will not live even with your parents
anymore, let alone with the outside world. Aer two days I placed before
them plenty of proof that all this was a plot. I admonished them that if they
became greedy for some short-lived bene t, one day they would lose all
originality, such would be the brainwashing. (I heard later, aer I had le
Ramnagar, these people had purchased land and even built a satsang hall.)
Aer listening to my talk, the old woman who had started the smear
campaign, nally recognized the true colors of the people behind this. She
stood up in the middle of the satsang, and asked pardon for her wrong
doings. I accepted it, but not without mentioning that the incident was a
warning bell for all of them.
For the past one thousand years, and especially aer the so-called
independence from British rule, the whole world has realized the power of
sacri ce (or tyaaga ) upon which our Indian way of life is established. Some
of them do not want Indians to think for themselves. Now if most Indians
will start re ecting and thinking carefully, then those who have so far made
a living by prostituting themselves, will begin to face difficult times. So such
people have conspired to defame the social order which is the strength of
India. Since Indian social order is dominated mainly by temples and
ashrams, they have targeted these entities. ey exploit the human
weakness called poverty to their bene t. It was by chance or by choice that
I too happened to face that bite. It was only due to the dedicated devotion
of the lady who served me, that a big plot was foiled. It also served as a test
of devotion for the followers, and even till date she remains one of my
highly reliable shish as (disciples).
 Oneness As Fire And Heat

O
   what is kept in the womb of ‘time.’ Time
brings anyone and anything together and can separate them
quickly too, but this is not through irrational whim, wish or will,
but by law, unlike most imagine. We may out laws but not time. We live
our lives like the proverbial logs in a stream that come together and
separate according to the speed of ow, as per their karma. ere is a secret
lying buried within the same saying: if there is a wish to permanently be
with some of those logs, the persons met at particular times in our existence
who have helped in promoting, enlightening and guiding us towards nal
liberation, then that is possible too—to be together forever. Everything is
predestined and happens as per the plans of destiny. is eternal truth of
the inherent spirituality is something which everyone must remember in all
dealings.
I was staying at Siddhi Vinayak Mandir in Chowl, a remote village in
Maharashtra. I was in search of two youngsters who I had met in my
dreams and came to this village with Keshav. e two of them, Mohi and
Raju were found here and initiated by me into Shakti saadhana . As I had
promised Keshav earlier, I had also initiated him too earlier into the order
of sanyas samskar at Omkareswar on Guru Poornima day. is new sanyasi
baba , now known as Vidyanand, stayed back in Chowl for a week or so to
get familiar with the preliminaries of sanyasi life, and le me to continue
further parivrajaka life. e two other youngsters started their intense
saadhana under my guidance.
One day Mohi invited me to his house for bhiksha . I noticed that in his
personal household pooja room, he had installed only Maa . Some
inspiration sprang from within that made me tell him that Shiva and Shakti
are inseparable entities. Without Shakti , Shiva cannot exist and function,
and in the complementary way, without Shiva , Shakti cannot manifest. He
told me that he did not have an authentic Shivalingam to ll in the gap and
that he would install Shiva too along with maa when he met with the
situation that would prompt that happening. I don’t know what inspired
me, but I placed my hands inside my kappar and a Shivalinga manifested
in it. I gave that Shivalingam to Mohi. Everybody took it as a miracle, and
even today it is enshrined and worshipped in Mohi’s mandir dedicated to
maa . So with mother, the father too was installed. In the meantime we
made plans to construct a hut for our saadhana in the nearby village of
Vave. It was in a secluded place, surrounded by forest and hills, and a few
furlongs away from the road. e hut was erected and even though Mohi
was running a jewellery shop in those days, he spent the maximum time
possible with me there, immersed in japa . But Raju, the other young man
was unwell, and was admitted in hospital. Aer he was discharged, he
stayed back at home to continue his saadhana to the extent possible.
Another youth named Mangesh had now joined us too, who also owned a
jewellery store in Srivardhan, a few hours’ journey from Chowl. ere was
a lot of disturbance in saadhana due to the forest insects, especially during
the homams at night. ey would came in swarms and fall down into the
homa agni . So we decided to shi back to the Siddhi Vinayaka Mandir. As
Raju’s house was near that temple, he also joined us in saadhana, and spent
the maximum time possible with me there. at mandir ’s ‘guru’ (priest and
owner) Ravi and his family, and his sister took responsibility of my
everyday needs.
In the meantime I was affected by the condition of ‘slipped disk’ and
doctors put me in traction. For that I had to be shied to a house nearby
belonging to Dasarath and family, relatives of Ravi. For a month or so I
underwent much suffering and the treatment available there was not
enough to give relief, so I le for the Jammu ashram along with Raju who
continued his saadhana there. (From then Raju was always with me,
serving and taking care of my needs for more than een years, till he le
me at Kurnool, to be with his ailing parents at Chowl in their last days).
Aer few months stay at the Jammu ashram, I returned to Chowl and
stayed in Mohi’s pooja room itself. During those days, Mohi and his friends
arranged a very big Ganesha yaagam at Mukhari Ganapathi Mandir in the
village, which was well attended and appreciated. It was a record that I
chanted mantras for the yaagam for more than twelve hours nonstop. I had
the good company of the youth at Chowl, all Mohi’s and Raju’s friends, and
a few of them took mantra deeksha too.
Everything was going well. Even though I occasionally visited the Jammu
ashram or Samalkha as needed, aer a few days stay there I would return
to Chowl to stay with Mohi and Raju. e bond with the youngsters was
deepening with time, and my dependency on them was increasing without
my notice. It may have been because of the fact that bonds have to be
broken when the time comes, ‘time’ started playing tricks. For no apparent
reasons, a few misunderstanding cropped up between Mohi and me. We
fell apart overnight. ough he was only ten years younger than me in
physical age, I was always with him as guru. He admitted to this, on his
return to me aer ten years. During this period Raju used to come and stay
with me at Jammu ashram, or Samalkha or Kurnool, and he served me
more than a son serves his father, when I fell seriously ill. Aer a long gap
of ten years, Mohi returned to me and by this time he was married and
blessed with a son and daughter. Raju was with me at the time of his arrival
when I was bedridden due to cardiac problems. Mohi was accompanied
with his guru bhais Mangesh, Bawa, Praveen and Anil. Mohi requested me
to return to Chowl at least once, and I too was inclined to visit the village
again. Aer one or two months, Bawa and Mohi came with a car to take
me there. A grand reception awaited at Mukhari Ganapathi Mandir,
arranged by Mohi and his friends, and I was taken to Mohi’s residence
where a mandir had been constructed by him, in the form of a procession.
Raju returned with me to Kurnool and stayed back for my seva. eir
saadhana went well, and I decided to give the poornabhishekam to Mohi
on a Guru Poornima day. is displeased a few of my other so-called senior
disciples at Hyderabad. Mohi’s saadhana had yielded results and I could see
the difference, so the decision was correct and timely from my view point as
a Guru. Spiritual saadhana is not a government job to get ‘promotions’
according to seniority. e one able to brings out result from saadhana will
get to advance to the following steps automatically, as it is said “yogena
yogamaapnuyaat (from the practice of yoga comes the eligibility).” Even
though Raju ‘pretended’ to understand his Guruji well, and always spoke
highly about me to my other disciples, he may have felt a bit hurt at my
decision to offer poornabhishekam to Mohi. It seemed like Raju may have
been under a wrong impression and been mentally preparing himself for it,
without my permission. Raju’s dedication to me as guru and his seva was
certainly faultless, and I was even ready to hand over my kutia and other
assets to him as reward for his long and faithful guru seva , and
maintenance of my ‘samadhi ’ mandir . But now he le me, and I am sure
he was never able to read or realize the affection I had for him since I am
not very demonstrative. Even though he le me in the false pretext of
taking care of his ailing parents, the undercurrent of his leaving was
nothing other than his ‘dislike towards Mohi’ and his gains in saadhana .
Raju returned to his village on his own accord, with some envy in mind,
but even at this moment I love him and have the same feeling, deeming
him ‘my own,’ which should not be present in a sanyasi . At Kurnool before
he le, my spiritual brother Abhayanandji and my sanyasi disciple
Omkaranand tried in vain to convince him that he was taking a wrong step
by leaving Guruji. He went ahead though, leaving a painful scar in my
heart. It may be that ‘Mother Nature’ never relished my ‘mamata ’
(mother’s love) towards him.
Cruel time plays tricks in human life now and then, when one tries to
make a permanent connection on worldly terms. It is only the relationship
based upon spiritual purpose and pursuit that continues through births.
Such a relationship between guru and disciple is not created for worldly
bene t and continues to exist forever, however weak, fruitless, tasteless it
might seem sometimes. No other relationship however good—be it wife,
husband, mother, father, or son that we may happen to get in any birth,
will continue with us in the following births. But the connection with the
guru however bad it might seem at the time, will de nitely continue and
we will always be in contact with him. is is the wonderful arrangement of
the Almighty for the protection of its most loved creation called the human.
is is because God is human-like, and not because humans are god-like.
But his own replica called the human does not have the time to feel the
intensity of this love that the lord has in his bosom for us. At the very
moment one recognizes this pure devotion for him in our heart, it will pour
out in gratitude. is incident was also one among them.
 Anantham, Atmabandham

I    call from my spiritual brother Swami Abhayananda

Saraswathi. I had e-mailed him a few chapters of the just completed
episodes for the rst reading and his feedback. Some 45 minutes later, he
called me up on the phone to say, “It looks ne, please continue the writing
work. Do not stop, the ow is ne. Only a few spelling and grammar
mistakes. I will correct it and return it to you.” I was wondering at this. Of
course he is the best friend and brother to me in the spiritual path, but he is
a bitter critic too. Like everybody, he had his own perspective and logic for
everything, and we used to discuss a variety of matters with each other. As
I have my own perspective too, we would quarrel too due to our unyielding
natures. Aer exchanging a few words on the difference of opinion, he
would sometimes compromise with me, his mind, being so pure and calm,
unlike mine. I have a different methodology, but he is a little conventional
and conservative with modern perspective. Yet I have always had a so
corner for him, as we have known each other since days of yore: from
Shivanand ashram in Rishikesh. Till date, our long affectionate relationship
has lasted more than thirty years. We used to go on pilgrimage of sorts, we
used to stay together, share pleasures and pains, and exchange select and
choicest gaalis (insults) too. A never-ending relation prevails between us till
today, and I pray and hope that it remain as evergreen till the Ganga ows.
Especially in the recent past, when I was suffering agony with the ‘burning
feet syndrome’ for a few months at Kurnool, he stayed with me for a long
time till I recovered.
I remember one trip, when we were heading towards Rishikesh from
Khedighat (a beautiful saadhana -oriented spot on the banks of the
Narmada, Madhya Pradesh). We also considered going to iruvannamalai
later, an abode of knowledge where inspirations ow involuntarily and
easily. Since we are both mostly inclined towards the gyana marga , we
share the same core thinking, saadhana etc. us we picked this place to
stay for a month or so, as a spiritual retreat. Aer a few days’ stay at ‘Koyal
Ghati’ (Rishikesh) in an ashram, we le for Haridwar to catch the train to
Delhi, and from there on to Madras or Chennai, as it is known nowadays.
We hopped onto a shared-ride van from Rishikesh to Haridwar. On the
way to Raiwala, a few drunkards in kashayam boarded our vehicle. As they
had all lled themselves up to their necks with country arrack (liquor) of
5th grade (brewed especially for them with the good intention of reducing
the population of poor India) they began shouting and quarrelling. A little
later they started breaching the limits. e driver too was fed up and saying
he would drive the automobile to the police station. But devils listen to
none but the cane! I was a bit anxious. By the time of reaching
Saptasarovar, we were all fed up and Abhayanand getting very angry and
infuriated, caught hold of one of the drunkards and delivered a well-aimed
blow. He then kicked them all out of the auto, and asked the auto driver to
proceed to the railway station.
So with such friction- lled travel, we found ourselves at last at the feet of
Arunachala, and due to communications exchanged earlier with them, we
were able to get accommodation at the Sri Ramana Ashram for a few days.
We were provided with a room which we shared, and planned to stay there
for a month or so. Early every morning we used to go on ‘giri pradikshina ’
(a radius of 14 km around the Arunachala Hills) which is the main item of
saadhana prescribed for whoever comes to iruvannamalai in the pursuit
of grace for knowledge and by extension for liberation.
iruvannamalai represents the mountainous re of truth or knowledge
that manifested upon the solid surface meeting point of two aspects: one
the deep-rooted values of life, and second the unscaled and unscalable
heights of worldly achievements in the ever expanding sky of possibilities.
ere was an ego clash between these two aspects—the creative aspect or
the height of worldly achievements (Brahma), and the aspect of sustenance
—the base-root of the deeper values of life (Vishnu). Both clashed for
supremacy on the surface eld of actions and activities. Lord Shiva
manifested as a mountainous re of knowledge in order to teach them a
lesson, and confer on them the realization that for peaceful coexistence,
both aspects of creation must meet at the plane of connecting activities, and
reciprocate and complement each other. Knowledge does not favor even
the most towering empirical achievement, no matter how useful it be or
high its magnitude, if it does not ally with the deep-rooted values of life,
and if others’ existence is not accepted at par with one’s own. So knowledge
manifested as re between them, and ordered them to prove their worth
and claim by challenging each to reach the peak or depth on either side.
Brahma took the form of a hamsa or swan and started scaling the heights
of (towards the head of Shiva) achievements but he failed. Feeling
frustrated and dejected aer a very long journey, he, Brahma the advocate
of worldly achievers, brought with him some fallen, dried out leaves and
ower, of no use to anyone anymore, to prove his case and claim the prize.
On the other end, the believer in the deepest of life values, Lord Vishnu
took the form of a monstrous pig, Varaha, and started digging downwards.
He started fathoming the deepest root of his faith, but he too met with the
same plight. He was sincere in his search though, and realization dawned
upon him when he understood the futility of fathoming the depth of
knowledge, and recognized that knowledge, Shiva, is verily the lone eternal
truth. us end the ego clash in a uniting note, with no necessity for
lengthy arguments or voluminous books, and by its own accord. Such is the
glory and meaning of Arunachala, the embodiment of knowledge re, so
says the Geeta as ‘gyanagni dagdha karmanam .’
e great saint Ramana, true to his title of Maharishi, was a vast reservoir
of subtle knowledge in its undiluted natural glory. He is one of the most
recognized saints of our time, non-controversial, silent and revolutionary.
His declarations are all irrefutably exact up to each letter. One of Abhaya’s
long- time friends, Rudrappa, who had also been an inmate of Shivananda
Ashram, and was now doing his saadhana in Arunachala, joined us for the
daily giri pradikshina . As he was passionately devoted to the Lord of
Arunachala, aer leaving Shivananda Ashram Rudrappa settled in
Tiruvannamalai for saadhana . Rudrappa and I never enjoyed each other’s
company as we were sort of like strong repelling poles. Whether he was
self-assuming, assertive, or egoistic I cannot tell, but he behaved like a
realized soul. Abhayanand and Rudrappa used to have discussions on a few
Vedantic topics, which I never dared to get involved in, or even cared for
either. us passed our time during the stay in Arunachala, highly
enjoyable and elevating nevertheless!
e only fellow who was more upsetting besides Rudrappa was my own
tummy. My mind was irritated with Rudrappa, and my tummy with the
Tamilians’ tamarind-laden food, made only with tamarind and chilly. I
used to have bad-smelling burps but even then I could not hold my tongue
in check, so tempting was the taste. Whenever he, the stomach, played the
tune, Swami Abhayanand would get angry and start giving me sermons like
—“You are fascinated with South Indian food, and you keep eating more
and more. at is why the indigestion.” Sometimes he would be revolted
and say, “It is difficult to stay with you in the same room, I am leaving.” He
took away his bedroll and spread it on the oor of the kitchen in the
apartment where we stayed. I felt very bad about that, as the kitchen was
just used as a storage room, having never been cleaned in a long time. I
knew that because of me Abhayanand was getting disturbed in his
saadhana . e next day onwards I started upavas —fasting for few days.
But on the second day Abhayanandji came near me with a sense of guilt,
and spoke solicitously, “Maharaji, sorry for the hurt that I in icted upon
you by my behavior yesterday, I beg your pardon, please don’t do upavas .
Take this.” He had brought some native bananas and dal vadas for me. He
insisted on my taking them. Our eyes brimmed with tears. A moment of
love, an occasion to remember even today with evergreen emotions.
e stay continued. Abhayanand, a book worm, used to go to the ashram
library and made use of it to re ect and contemplate. My routine was, or
rather my preference, was to sit at the samadhi mandir of Maharshi
Ramana 12 . One day my eyes suddenly went to the cloth Abhayanand was
wearing which appeared of very good quality and appealed to me. Feeling a
strange temptation to own it, I asked him to give it to me. As it was old he
declined, but I kept insisting that I needed it. (Even today I have no idea
why I was aer him for that piece of cloth). Abhayanand le without
saying anything. On return I noticed that the cloth was not on his body. I
thought he might have thrown it away. But the next day he brought it to
me, well washed and well ironed by a washerman. I never used that cloth,
and took it back to Jammu where it still sits in the small almirah in my
ashram room. Something was bothering me about this—what was the
reason behind asking for his old cloth and keeping it in the almirah? But
even today, I have the mandatory practice that whenever he visits me, I
offer him a pair of clothes which he happily accepts, thanks to his good
heart.
We were returning from iruvannamalai aer the one month stay.
Reaching Delhi, we continued straightaway to the ashram by train which
was very late and reached Chaki Bank (Pathankot) at night. We hired an
auto-rickshaw to reach Ramnagar village where the ashram is situated.
ere were four people in the vehicle—the both of us, and the driver, and
another man picked up along the way. He, the stranger, was carrying a
small dog and was fully drunk. Aer traveling a few kilometers when we
reached in front of a Nagaraja Mandir, the driver said, “Baba, we have
arrived at your ashram.” ey both insisted that we get down from the auto.
is was at around 2-3 am at night in an unknown village. So Abhayanand
shouted at him to keep moving. Aer a few kilometers, the driver again
came up with an excuse that the headlight of the auto was not working.
Abhayanand promptly took out his ashlight, which the driver didn’t
expect. en with no option, he continued. I could easily see that swamiji
was looking for something in his bag. In a minute, he took out a small knife
and showing it to me, con ded to me in Malayalam, “If these people
bother us any more, this will be enough.” He was very courageous and
never afraid of anything or anybody, rock-solid in his views on the shastras
. I myself am not so knowledgeable in Vedanta or shastra, except for the
shaakteya saadhana which I have been following since childhood. He
insisted that I study some of the shastra texts as his beloved guru Sri Swami
Ramanandiji Maharaj also would recommend. But somehow attending a
class or memorizing anything, was almost impossible for me.
I have observed it happening, especially since the past few incidents, that
whenever I fell seriously ill, Abhayanandji was always by my side to take
care of me with love and his trademark scolding! His physical presence and
psychological support have several times brought me back to normalcy. In
him, I have seen a real friend, a brother and much, much more. Yes, our
relationship continues to grow deeper.
12 Ramana Maharshi was an Indian sage and liberated master who lived in iruvannamalai or
Arunachala hills of South India.
 Being In Awareness

O
 I  at Khedi Ghat, a small hamlet just by the banks of
River Narmada, I lived in an ashram called Virakta Kutia. at is
how it was known among sadhus , because they admitted only
sadhus who do not handle money for any reason or purpose. is ashram
has an interesting story.
e founder of Virakta Kutia was one avadhootha , who never wore any
clothing other than a loincloth or kaupina throughout his life, like
Maharshi Ramana of Arunachala, although their states are different. e
avadhoota was the only son of a rich landlord, but right from childhood he
had enormous physical power, being able to effortlessly li weights much
heavier than the average human could. In the normal world if someone
sees such potential in a child, they will try to exploit it, but his parents who
had some scriptural knowledge through satsang, wanted to investigate the
reasons for it. ey consulted many doctors but no one was able to give
them a convincing explanation. In the meanwhile a sadhu of considerable
attainment came to their house one day, asking for bhiksha . Aer hosting
him, the parents asked the sadhu about the abnormal phenomenon they
were observing in their son. e mahatma said that the boy was a yaksha
(a demigod) who by some misdeed had to become a human being, and
that was the explanation for the physical power. ey brought the boy in
front of the sadhu , who con rmed this with some kriyas . e parents
wanted to know if there was any redemption for this, so they could help
free him. e sadhu said that it was possible if he did some work of bene t
to sadhus.
At hearing this, the een-year old boy then le home, and came
wandering to Khedi Ghat. Bathing there in the Narmada, he received some
inspiration and decided to stay there, taking shelter under a banyan tree.
He stopped wearing conventional clothing, remaining only in kaupina .
Once every morning he would go to the nearby village called Bharwah
which had a bazaar and eat whatever he received as bhiksha . He would
return to remain under the shadow of the tree. One day an idea struck him
about making a kutia , but the place was low-lying, and would get
waterlogged at the time of rains. So even without being aware of it, he
started liing huge boulders from the Narmada, and within one week he
gathered more than y tonnes of rock this way. Using these and soil, he
put up a high raised platform, upon which he started building a makeshi
room-like structure. And all this had been happening even without him
being aware of what he was doing. But by providence, aer completion of
the room, one parikramavasi sadhu arrived there and said that he was in
search of a place to stay during chaturmaasya (rainy season). e
avadhoota offered the kutia to that parikramavasi with joy, and he himself
continued staying under the banyan tree. But this small action did wonders
to the avadhoota . Due to the merit he acquired from submitting his kutia
to that parikramavasi Maa Narmada blessed him with enlightenment. Till
then no passerby had ever wondered how such a kutia could have been
built single-handedly by one man within so short a time. en everybody
came to know about him and later his devotees built him this ashram etc.
us the yaksha actually, in the body of a human, absolved himself of his
sins due to the meritorious deed, done unknowingly, in the name of sadhus
. e building stands today as testimony to the event in the year 1950.
e Narmada area itself is a siddha bhoomi, and adding to that the
ashram is a siddha sthaana , and hence a doubly bene cial place for
effortless saadhana . So I chose this place for my 14th purascharan of the
shodashi mantra of Srividya. It is a beautiful place near Omkareshwar, on
the North bank of Narmada, with a few rooms equipped with basic needs
for the stay of sadhus and sanyasis to do their saadhana , the food being
arranged by the ashram administration. I stayed at the small kutia , made
by the yaksha incarnate avadhoota , and it was vacant aer his samaadhi .
It was renovated recently and is maintained by his devotees. ere is a
smashaana (cremation ground) near the kutia that is being used by the
villagers.
While I was staying there, an unconventional sadhu calling himself a
swami was also staying nearby at the smashaana grounds with his pet
monkey. I was enjoying my japa purascharan with an exhilaration I had
never experienced before. My spiritual brother, Swami Abhayanand, was
also staying in the main ashram, which is a little further down from this
kutia, and where I needed to go for my daily bhiksha . Days passed
smoothly without any involvement with, or disturbance from others. I kept
myself submerged in japa saadhana . Except for the irritation from the
occasional visits of a few villagers, an ideal and quiet atmosphere prevailed.
However just as Satya Yuga cannot remain forever, and the testing or Kali
Yuga time descends, there was disturbance due to a swami staying in a
kutia of his own nearby. He had arrived from Uttarkashi, having been
expelled from there, aer serving as a kothari for a long time in a famous
ashram . Since the last few years he was staying in his kutia here for his
saadhana . He too was a tantrik but part-time, who unfortunately involved
himself in petty issues like cases of childlessness, love affairs, and mostly
satta (gambling). Like international politics and inter-state politics, there is
inter-ashram politics too, the reasons which will always be some tale-
bearing, greedy villagers with vested interests. But the victims are always
the sadhakas staying there whose peace, alas, is destroyed.
As already mentioned, this place has certain specially charged powers
(both siddha bhoomi , siddha sthaana ). So anything that is said, done,
given, thought, and practiced at this spot has added, and quick results. e
people who settle here in the garb of sadhus exploit this aspect with black
magic to who they favor. So the sadhu in this scenario gave a tantric mantra
to one of his devotees, using which the fellow began earning large sums
through gambling, which is a scourge in that area. When money comes in,
in unethical ways it will also be spent in unrighteous ways. e devotee’s
character, and that of his family began deteriorating. e children, a young
boy and girl adopted unwholesome habits, the wife took to drinks, all
because the money had not been earned in a righteous manner.
Nevertheless the sadhu was getting his share of money.
One day the devotee by chance came to me and told all the stories. I told
him, “Look, you are already doing japa of a black magic mantra of tamasic
nature. If you value peace more and not money, I will give you the
solution. Your previous mantra will not work to create peace.” e man
now had realized the value and price of peace, so he said, “Swamiji , you
just pull me out of this hell. I am ready to forego my money. I would rather
be a laborer, but I need peace.” I gave some saatvic mantra and in one week
he had regained his mental poise and will power. When you decide to walk
on the path of righteousness, destiny will also come to help you. I stumbled
upon a mill owner, who was in search of a good man for the post of
manager. I suggested this fellow to him, and he was appointed and was
satis ed too.
Aerwards he stopped visiting the part-time tantrik sadhu , who had
introduced him to the tamasic mantra. Any tamasic mantra if
unaccompanied by japa etc. will harm the guru, so the sadhu now started
facing troubles of all sorts. I was not aware of this turn around. As his
tamasic mantra was blocked by saatvic mantra, he who was now doing
saatvic mantra was kept safe by the power of the new mantra. But the guru
came under the grind. He did some detective work and came to know all
that had happened from others, though not from the parties concerned. So
he assigned the blame for his downfall upon me. He started a smear
campaign against me, trying all the tricks under his sleeves to get me out of
there. He had been using that black-listed mantra very well to his
advantage, and now that it was blocked and its retrieval only a remote
possibility, the deity started harassing him. But he himself was unable to
come face to face with me, and had been fumbling for days. Finally, on the
verge of breaking down, he approached me early one morning while I was
on my way to the river to bathe. is tantric stood right in the middle of
the path and began abusing me. I patiently asked for the reasons and if I
had caused him harm in some way. But he was too agitated to even hear
me.
Hearing his furious, high-octave voice, Abhayananda came running out
from the main ashram, to see what was going on. He understood the real
and the one-pointed agenda of the tantrik in keeping me out of Khedi
Ghat, for he smelt a danger to his network of gambling dens. e tantrik
had just lost a good contact too who might cause even more damage if he
went out and spilled his secrets.
Abhayanandji decided to get involved, and discussed the issue with the
swami and villagers, which I disliked. I told Abhayanand to stay away, as it
may disturb the serenity we had both attained, but he was not ready to
hear me since the swami in the quarrel had been known to us for long.
Somehow with his tact and diplomacy, Abhayanand solved the problem,
and the clouds of ashanti cleared. But the peculiarity of these clouds of
ashanti is that when they rain down, the earth instead of getting wet goes
dry. So the aer effect of being a party to the situation was that my mental
equilibrium was disturbed, or rather lost. I had to toil hard to regain it.
A Naga sadhu staying in a nearby kutia owned a mala made of copper, in
beads shaped like small skulls. is resembled the mala which my Guruji
had given me during my stay with her in the Mookambika forest. I gave the
mala later to Mohi, my disciple in Maharashtra, for whom I did
poornabhishekam in Srividya. at mala with 54 such skull-shaped beads,
became a fascination in my mind. I requested the Naga sadhu to give it to
me, but he refused to part with it. I started pestering Abhayanand to help
me make it mine by any means. He knows my basic nature, that if I set my
heart on something, even out of a small fascination, I would somehow
manage to get it. is skull-like mala of copper, strongly resembled the
mala which my Amma had given me and it had somehow aroused in me,
the thoughts of the past, making me nostalgic. And there was no chance of
my abandoning this chase, for aer so long I had come across this unique
thing. Abhayanand applied his tactics very diplomatically, and managed to
bargain for the mala , paying two hundred rupees for it. I was so happy to
have that mala in my hand.
In spite of these undesirable encounters, the days went by very smoothly
at Khedi Ghat, with proper saadhana, discussions, and long walks on the
banks of Narmada. Abhayanand used to visit Omkareshwar, not far from
there, to meet his Guruji occasionally. My japa purascharan was almost
nearing completion, but this time there was nobody to sponsor a havan .
But that was immaterial since that ashram too did not permit such rituals
which were against an avadhoota -hood. Nor was common feeding done
there. So doing japa without break, with full devotion and faith was
sufficient. Abhayanand made the suggestion that since I was unable to do
havan in the concluding phase, ten percent more japa could be done in
addition. He knows such rules of scriptures which was always helpful to
me. I was never particular in following all such rules, but he insisted on
them, sometimes even quarreling with me, if I failed to follow the orders of
the scriptures. Of course, such a scolding from a dear friend was only for
my betterment in successful saadhana . I completed my purascharan and
by then Abhayanand had to go to Rishikesh for some contingencies. So
with my company gone, I lost interest in being there and decided to move
to Indore, where I could do something about my research work that was
stagnating. I would be staying there with a baba at Anandmayi Ashram, to
continue my research work in Srividya. Abhayanand also le for Rishikesh.
e baba at the Indore ashram welcomed me happily and arranged for
my long stay. e accommodation had a bedroom, with an attached
bathroom, a pooja room, and a living room. I started the work on ‘chiti
yantra ’. A yantra was drawn on a 6×6 feet wide sheet of copper costing
more than ve thousand rupees. Baba arranged for the amount through
some of his devotees, and I started applying myself by doing japa and
practicing certain rituals based on the chiti mantra. All night long I would
do saadhana and a lot of japa , accompanied by continuous reading,
analyzing, meditating, and thinking. ere would also be discussions on the
practical aspects of experiencing the ‘awareness’ of ‘being.’ In the daytime I
slept. Every morning I walked for some time in the beautiful garden in that
ashram.
One day I spotted a small, beautiful butter y with wonderful designs on
its wings lying dead on the ground. I felt the thrust of an unknown pain in
my heart and holding its tiny body in my hand, I started moving towards
my room. On the way I saw Baba and one of his disciples (a doctor by
profession) sitting on the verandah in front of Anandmayi Maa’s mandir . I
went up to them, and as if prompted by some power within, asked the
doctor, “Sir, could you certify whether this beautiful butter y is actually
dead or some aspects of its existence are still there, and if could be
revived?” He looked at it, then touching it said, “Yes, it is dead in all
aspects. But tell me Swamiji, what you are going to do with this dead
butter y? Or, what you were you wanting to know or looking to prove?”
Baba was also very curiously looking at my face to hear my reply. I told the
doctor, “See, it may appear to be dead, but our scriptures mention many
other aspects of existence, of a being. At the instant of dying, only the main
aspect called prana leaves the body immediately. e many other aspects
still remain and take more time to leave the body. I feel that sub-pranic
aspects similar to subatomic particles should de nitely be in its body. It is
only from these that nature arranges for the next body of that soul. An
analogy is how we do not change the body for every piece of clothing we
have. We change the cloth as per the body’s needs. So in a biological
existence, out of the sixteen elements, only one element, the life force
prana, gets depleted from the allotted quota. e others remain in
dormancy. So if we might be able to identify them we can infuse prana or
vital breath from outside.” I was going on talking like a mad guy. e doctor
and the baba looked puzzled yet fascinated. But the doctor hooked me by
saying, “Can you identify them? Do you know anything constructive?” By
re ex, I said, “Yes! ough I have not demonstrated it yet, I have
con dence in the words of the scriptures, they never say anything
misleading. I do have reliable knowledge, though not experience.” en the
doctor said, “You should demonstrate it now to the extent possible.”
Now I came to awareness, and wondered why such a situation had arisen
abruptly. I thought to myself that it should not be a miracle but just a
scienti cally established process and that some voice from inside me would
help prove the truth of my belief. ere was some conviction from
nowhere. I said, “Give me a day’s time. I need some data in this regard,
with which I may be able to understand this truth. Surely, tomorrow
morning on your visit to the ashram, I will show you a miracle. is
butter y should y.” He said, “at is impossible. Dead things never come
back to life again.” I argued, “Your science can declare this one as dead,
because your science has its own parameters, and by that its own limits,
which are more destructive than constructive. Your system is not an
inclusive system of knowledge like the Vedas.”
“We, the Shakti sadhakas, are taught to not consider death as the end,
but only as a phase in evolution, because manifestation does not happen in
phases. We don’t believe that one is dead until some other factors are also
not met. So shraadha etc. is done even aer one has passed away. at
atom or paramaanu might de nitely have been existing equally in both
dead and live things, which we call ‘Amma’. With the strength of the
sanghtana- vighatana (creation-dissolution) theory, I will bring it back to
life. Meet me in my room tomorrow morning.” We parted, bidding each
other farewell.
Now it had become an unexpected and self-invited challenge to me—to
establish that the science of spirit is superior to the science of matter. I went
to the market with brahmachari Kanaiah and bought a small glass box with
a hole on its top. Placing the dead butter y in it, I kept the box in my pooja
room. Right aer that, it seemed as if my whole being was almost possessed
with the thoughts of reviving that butter y with a second birth. Aer the
doctor le, and I came back to the room, I had ash-like inspirations about
some mantras , kriyas , and rituals from long ago—like accessing forgotten
government les. I strung them all into some logical sequence and order.
e inspiration to do all this came spontaneously, with virtually no effort,
and I started applying them. (I cannot divulge details here for this is not
the context.) All night long I kept sending vibrations of sankalpas and japa
mantras through the hole in the glass box where the butter y was kept. I
believe in the scriptures and in my guru mandala which never liked to see
me fail. I do not know how the night passed, but I was still immersed in my
world when early in the morning the doctor and baba came to my pooja
room. I could easily see the doubt on the face of the doctor. e baba of
course believed in mantrashakti too. But the application was an
unattempted one. e scriptures say—‘mantraanam achintya shaktihi ’
(immense are the powers within mantras ). When both of them had sat
comfortably in the pooja room, I opened the glass box and with prayers to
my Guruji, I clapped just once. Lo! e butter y moved its wings and took
off in the room but fell down to the oor aer a sortie, like a failed Indian
satellite. I picked it up and checked, and the pranashakti was indeed out of
it.
e doctor and baba congratulated me at this wonderful success in
bringing the butter y back to life through the methods prescribed by
mantra shastra . It was amazingly encouraging and the feat accomplished
without any proper guidance, exact knowledge or preparation. But the little
creature had lived only for a few minutes. ey wanted to know the reason
why it did not live longer. Even though I too felt sad at its death, I could
understand the reason behind this. ough it was an incident of small
success, it had taken away a lot of the accumulated powers from within me.
anks to God that I had a little in reserve due to the successful saadhana
and purascharana done in the past few months at Khedi Ghat. is
creation is not a one-man play—all the three energies work in
synchronization for every single creature to survive in this cosmos. Any one
of those three, if it moves away from the establishment, will lead to doom. I
informed them that it was due to the results of the long saadhana I had
done immediately before coming here, that the elemental force of creation
or srishtishakti (brahmashakti or the ability to create) had awakened a little
within me, and that of course by chance, not by choice. It can happen in
anyone if they do intense and systematic saadhana , and I am not an
exception. Creation cannot live without a sustainer; creativity cannot exist
on its own accord. So to behold the created, and so that it be able to travel
till its destination is reached, a sustainer or the Vishnu is a must. In my case
through oversight, and out of over enthusiasm, I had forgotten to bifurcate
the available source of energy before the attempt was made. Immediately
aer the creative process is completed, the sustaining energy must become
available to take care of the created. But once the cat is out, you cannot
amend your sankalpa , it is not permitted.
is is where I missed the link, while I was satis ed with the result, I was
also ashamed at violating the established code of nature. But I am glad that
I had rst-hand experience of the veracity of the mantra shastras. ey are
equally effective, applicable, and relevant even today, depending upon the
thoroughness with which we acquire this knowledge from a competent
authority. Our failures cannot be attributed to the scriptures. In spirituality
this is a point which has to be remembered with caution. Otherwise one
will end insulting the rishis , incurring their retribution. So since sthithi
shakti (Vishnu shakti or the authority to protect and sustain) was not with
me and not taken care of, I failed at keeping the butter y alive a little
longer. ey were also satis ed with the explanation I gave, and le me
with a pat.
But I was remorseful that I had gone against the laws of nature, as I was
not supposed to attempt such things. I felt I had wasted my earnings on
pitfalls. Expecting, attempting, or developing interest in such things is a big
downfall for any sadhak who starts walking this path with the single-
pointed desire of gaining enlightenment. But solace! I had only tried to
prove the power of mantrashakti , even in this age of nihilists, and at the
time of so-called development in the science of destruction. Hopefully
some wavering sadhak with meaningless modern education driing in the
middle will be encouraged by this out-of-routine attempt. To succeed in
our efforts at ushering in a new era of spiritual science, such things are
sometimes necessary. I beg pardon from my Guru Mandala for violating
the laws of nature, and our scriptures.
 Beware, They Are Watching

O
   long pilgrimage, I returned to Haridwar, and with a
hope to get accommodation in any of the ashrams I reached
Saptasarovar, but it was in vain. In those days as I had vowed to
wear just a piece of gunny bag, none of the ashrams were ready to open
doors for me. I decided to stay either on the ghat of Ganga or on the
verandah of any of the ashrams. I opted to stay on the verandah of Virakta
Kutia as I felt it would be a safe and secure place than on the ghat. In the
nights there used to be the menace of stray dogs and night time Romeos.
e shermen especially used to be at the ghats , even though shing is
prohibited in the Ganga in that area. If I stayed at the ghats , I would
de nitely be tempted to oppose them and there would de nitely be a
quarrel. So I thought it better to avoid a scene there.
It was winter at its peak. I had with me just one blanket to save my body
from that biting cold. Spreading a cloth on the verandah, and covering my
body with the blanket, I tried to sleep in that harsh winter. Once night,
perhaps at midnight, a swamiji came near me and covered my body with
another kambal (shawl). I had not been able to sleep and was partially
awake, so I could easily identify him. I had known him earlier from my stay
in Gangotri. He was a reputed scholar in Vedanta, and well-known for his
sel ess service to visiting sadhus in Gangotri. He had lived in the Himalayas
either in Gangotri or in Uttarkashi for years, not even coming down to the
plains. But however strong one may be in mind or body, it is only nature
that has the nal say. e facilities for sadhaks in Gangotri in those days
were just the bare minimum. ey oen fell victim to malnutrition rst.
Now, aer a long stay, he might have felt the inevitable changes in health
and life, so he was back in Haridwar and staying at Virakta Kutia during
the winter time. I remembered well his help during my purascharan on
Srividya mantra at Gangotri, about which I have narrated in volume 1 of
my autobiography.
e next morning I thanked him for his generosity and told him that I
didn’t need an extra kambal and could withstand the cold with just one
blanket. I was thinking of returning it to him but he disagreed and said the
cold was going to intensify and one blanket would not suffice. He asked me
to keep it as reserve, and I did so. Slowly our relationship grew deeper. I
wondered at his scholarship and deep contemplation of philosophy. Of
course as usual, we would have difference of opinion on the spiritual
subjects, but somewhere in the core of my mind I liked him and considered
him a good friend. He too was a free bird in his own way of life like I was. I
did not attach myself to any mandali in Saptasarovar leaving myself to be
free in my day to day life. e normal custom in Haridwar is that whenever
a newcomer arrives they enroll him into some mandali depending on the
ashram authorities. But I never liked his short temper and arguing nature.
He tried to impose new ‘school of thoughts,’ which had no support of the
scriptures, and I was not ready to buy his thoughts as they were.
e sense of free life is oen misinterpreted by waywards. Such people in
the garb of sadhus can create problems, and do damage to the credibility
and reputation of sadhus and if they have no control in their behavior, they
can prove worse than a devil. So it is mostly recommended that either a
sadhu be in the company of his group (mandali ) or keep totally away from
‘samsara ’ and live in a lonely place without interacting with anyone. And
predictably problems also came up with this swamiji friend as he was free
with everyone. He used to go to a particular ashram for his daily bhiksha .
In spite of all his normal behavior, I noticed in him an oddity that at times
he would be lost in unknown thoughts. I watched this for a few days and
enquired about this from others as well, but failed to make out anything
clearly. One day when I accompanied him to the ashram for bhiksha , I
noticed a girl in her teens there, the daughter of the cook in that ashram.
He was abnormally intimate in dealing with her. I smelt something rotten. I
was hesitating to say something about it, seeing a good sadhu with good
education going astray, which could be seen as a disgrace among the society
of sadhus . So nally the cat came out of the bag that she had fallen in love
with that swamiji . She moved around him during his bhiksha and
whenever she met him, she would follow him and talked about this or that.
Of course he tried in vain to avoid her, and the people around started
gossiping, adding their own masalas and started teasing him. When I
delved a little deeper, I learned that due to his intelligence, scholarliness,
and modern education he was lured and persuaded to adopt the girl’s cult,
one with luxurious incentives coming from a moneyed and politically
powerful modern religion. A few of his friends similarly baptized recently,
had become mahants (chief priest) of some places of worship in Punjab.
One day I suggested to him that it would be better for him if he le the
situation at least for some time, so the rumor mill could die. But he was
reluctant to do so, preferring to stay back and then instead of facing the
situation he started confronting it. He allowed it to be blown out of
proportion by the rumor mongers. A few days passed and the situation had
degraded so much that a private matter was now public drama, with a lot
of actors surfacing now in the form of commercial interests, and cult and
inter-ashram politics. A erce competition between these forces ensued,
each tearing down the other. e issue now became a headache for the
other sadhus as well and they started regarding the swamiji differently, and
avoiding him.
One day news was in the air that the swami had disappeared from
Saptasarovar. Nobody knows till date where he has gone! Fruitless talk
again started in the society of sadhus , a few of them saying he perhaps le
for the Himalayas, and a few casting suspicion. A story of his suicide too
started spreading in that area, and a few thought he might have been
murdered. Anyhow, though years have passed, nothing about his existence
is clear. But a good sadhak went astray because of a little worldliness. Maya
weaves very enticing nets where ies may get caught, but elephants can
tear through them.
ere is a popular saying among the sadhu fraternity: “kilay me raho, sui
dhaaga nahi rakhna, maang ke khaao .’ Translated, it means: live in the
fortress of sadhus; never try to patch up or mend a friendship or
relationship broken for any reason; if you make any de nite source for your
daily needs like bhiksha etc. live life on a day-to-day basis and don’t store.
ese are well-tested dictums recommended by conventional saints. e
one thing I understood from this episode is that a sadhu must stay alert in
the modi ed ways of today’s world. We sadhus along with being sadhakas
or spiritual seekers for ourselves, also bear the responsibility of spreading
the message of the Upanishads as expounded by Bhagavadpada Adi
Shankaracharya. Historical evidence shows what stupendous work he did
to reestablish the true meaning of the Upanishads. However the forces that
misinterpreted the Upanishads then at that time, have still not died. Armies
of them still exist, some even in the form of alternative schools of thought.
ey plant misgivings and play havoc, and some modern educated sadhaks
too fall into their traps. Such de lers and polluters have always lived in
society, be it the present time or the Vedic period. ough society has
thousands of eyes that can easily see the surface of an issue, they are unable
to see the clever plotting behind the curtain. e destructive elements train
people in society to view issues only in a certain light, depending on the tint
of the glasses that these elements are providing. e unfortunate result is
that many actions of sadhus will now be analyzed or criticized by
unsuspecting people according to the feedback and prewritten scripts
provided to them by the subversive elements. So it is really a herculean task
for a sadhu to save himself from the pits dug by these elements, before they
start accomplishing their rishi runa of telling the world the reality of the
Upanishads.
 A Bittersweet Experience

L
 , I realize that the wounds in my heart are yet to heal
from the dearth of proper responsive devotion so far. e difficulty
with love which transforms only later into devotion, is that it knows
only one language, it cannot learn any other tongue. And that means you
can deal with it only if you know its language. It cannot answer to you in
the language of your choice and will be like a mute child.
From childhood to my age now, I have struggled and suffered a lot. And
other than my Guruji’s great gi to me—the inclination and opportunity to
serve others and live for them, I gathered no material gain in life other
than the treasure of experiences, some good and some bad, but all of them
full of meaning. If I chose to weigh them, I would say the bitter ones will
be heavier than the sweet. e farewell message of departing atmas or
souls, to the living atmas , has been to not be under the illusion that this
world is the sweetest one. Human life is a payback trip. When I
contemplate on my struggles, it is easy to understand that this could only
have been due to the effect of my karmas and by extension, those of the
others. We might have perhaps done wrong to those people who are now
settling scores with us in this birth or janma . No jeeva has the capacity to
predict anything about the gati or path of karma. So perfect are His rules.
One thing I know for certain, that even with all the bitter experiences, I
have enjoyed this life as a sweet one, as a grace or prasadam offered to me
by my Guruji.
Whenever I felt I was falling, there would be my Guruji to give me a
helping hand. She would have never ever permitted me to fall. Whenever
there were tears in my eyes, her loving hands would appearing on my face
to wipe them. Whenever I was a bad mood, I could hear her laughter to
cheer me up. Before my clothes wore out, I was provided with new ones.
Whenever I was hungry, there would appear the good food I deserved.
Before I had to worry about shelter, she opened up new mansions for me
to stay. Whenever I fell ill, she appeared in the form of a doctor with
stethoscope, carrying packs of suitable medicine, sometime even
barefooted. She seemed to declare those beautiful words “yogakshemam
vahaamyaham ,” (I carry the burden of your needs) if you remember me
with passionate love.
When she is with me every step of the way, why should I even pause to
consider if my life has been a successful or accomplished one? During the
critical days of my saadhana in Himalayas and elsewhere, she was with me
like a shadow. Sometimes just behind me protecting, and sometimes in
front guiding like a beacon light to show the path. Everywhere, at every
moment, and in every event . . . my Guruji was with me, is with me, and
will be with me.
ough we may recount only the memorable and signi cant events of
achievement in our lives, it is important however to remember that our
scriptures have attached more importance to the simple events that
demonstrate the depth of love. One day I had a sudden desire to eat dates
(khajoor ). I asked one of my disciples if they were available in the house
where I was staying. She replied, “Yes, I’m sure they must be in the
kitchen’s pantry, I shall get them for you,” But something else came up, and
we both disconnected with that thought. Yet even till the evening my
disciple could not get around to nding the dates for me, perhaps it had
slipped her memory. e same evening another disciple came to meet me
with his family, and I saw a packet in his hand. It is the usual practice with
my disciples that they bring fruit, owers, or something useful to me when
they grace me with a visit, as busy as the world is today. ey offered me
the packet, and to my wonderment, when I opened it, I found it contained
dates. Believe me, I burst into tears for entertaining such a desire. It was
only aer this happened that the rst disciple was able to now suddenly
remember her commitment!
What should I glean from this incident? I do know one thing: that since
at every moment my Guruji is with me, she also knows of my ichha or
desire to eat a particular thing. And although it had not been served in
time, surely it was Amma who had planted the impulse in the second
disciple’s mind to pick up that thing I was craving. is is not to be counted
as a miracle. e guru is paramatma . Nothing is impossible for a guru.
Even the smallest ichha of this ignorant child of Amma is ful lled by her
through her ichhashakti . But the lesson here for a sadhaka is to not always
keep trying to engage divinity in ful lling worldly needs. ose are possible
to be ful lled with the help of mortals. One should aspire for the higher
aspects of human life, possible only through the absolute grace of divinity.
Knowing my guru as sarvantharyami (Inner ruler of everything), that I
did not need to ask to ful ll my needs, I used to keep away my ichha from
myself. Yet being a human, the mind sometimes does pop up with certain
ichhas which can lead to bitter encounters. ere may then dissatisfaction
or overindulgence, negative reactions, side effects and undesirable
outcomes. When the ichha or rather itch is not treated or ful lled with
proper effort or means, object or, method, then there is bound to be
disappointment, depression or anger. So beware of the mechanism of
scratching that itch. ‘Asha hi paramo dukham, nairashyam paramo sukham
’ (desire is misery greatest, desireless state is utmost bliss), there are such
sayings in the scriptures. e cause of all miseries are trishna , moham ,
ichha (desire, thirst, longing, illusion). Bear in mind that here nairashyam
or niraasha does not mean disappointment as is commonly understood, but
it is the condition of being asha rahita —or a level of detachment, a stage of
no needs. If you talk about having a certain outlook, attitude, or way of
dealing with day-to-day needs, that implies existence of ichha . You should
be satis ed with what you are, with what you get, with what you
eat . . . at was my disposition during my Himalayan life, during my
intense saadhana .
 A Dream Comes True

D
   my visits to Sri Sailam, I went to Atmakur, a small
kasba in Kurnool district. I remember it was in the year of 2003. I
used to stay in Atmakur with one of my senior disciples Dr.
Satyanarayana who practices there. Both he and his wife were ardent
disciples and were doing vigorous saadhana in Srividya. ey were doing
their shodashi japa during that visit. His wife’s sister Uma (from
Vishakapatnam) had also been initiated by me during their visit to Jammu
ashram during one Guru Poornima.
I was very much depressed in those days, because of not being able to
nd even a single sponsor to publish the manuscript work of four books on
Srividya. ey were lying around in the way Maharshi Shuka lay in his
mother’s womb for sixteen years! Wherever I went, I would carry the
manuscripts along, to try to nd a sponsor or publisher, like scholars during
those days of kings. Yet the lucky soul, the would-be publisher eluded my
search or say my shing! But yes, the dawn nally did come. I was
introduced to one Gollapudi Gowrishankar, Uma’s husband, during my
visit. Being in pessimistic mood from all my efforts seemingly coming to
point blank, I was planning to return from Atmakur within a day or two to
Srisailam, and then to Hyderabad to go to Delhi. e doctor enquired
about the reasons for my low spirits or emotional breakdown, and I
narrated my mental agony. But in reality it requires a sympathetic heart to
grasp the state of a mind that had been tirelessly swimming trying to nd a
log of wood with no success. Aer lea ng through the manuscript,
Gowrishankar spoke the beautiful words that my ears had been longing to
hear: “is will be done”. He would take care of publishing one of the
books. He asked me to meet him in Kovvur where he worked as a manager
in Andhra Bank, and said that we would nalize the matter of the
publication of the book.
e following week I reached Kovvur, a small town with good
infrastructure near Rajahmundry and also known as Goshpada Kshetra
(footprint of divine cow Kamadhenu). e river Godavari divides the two
districts East Godavari and West Godavari. Occasionally I used to go to
have a bath at the Godavari Ghats. Accommodation was arranged at
Gowrishankar’s residence. Looking at the nal manuscripts of the books,
Secrets of Sri Chakra, Raja Rajeswari Kalpa, and Matruka Yantra Rahasya,
Gowrishankar opted to print Secrets of Sri Chakra, a small book, and the
rst of its kind. It is a research paper and thesis resulting from my
contemplative study on Sri Chakra. Gowrishankar arranged for some
money to start the printing works. e rst contribution amount was
donated by one Subba Rao (son of Gollapudi Maruthi Rao and
Gowrishankar’s elder brother) of Chennai. e desktop publishing work
started at the Lakshmi Ganapati press in Kovvur. Since I had now also
received some contributions from disciples in North as well as South India,
the printing of Raja Rajeswari Kalpa (the ritual part of Srividya—in
Sanskrit) also started. Dorbala Prabhakar Sharma and Bhamidipathi Ram
Gopal helped me proofread the Sanskrit.
By now of course, I was feeling quite a bit relieved from these new and
unexpected developments, and was very happy that the publications were
nally a reality on the horizon of my destiny. I will not say this is the rst
book written and published by me. In my poorvashram too I used to write
and translate some plays, some still remain unpublished. My rst book
Mruthyuradhya was published by the prestigious publishing house National
Book Stall of Kerala, with the nancial assistance of my uncle. A few other
books and play, translated from the English and Bengali originals were also
published with the help of School of Drama, Kerala.
It was during these days that the all Graceful Mother blessed
Gowishankar to be initiated into the great Srividya through me. Even
though he was busy with his bank work, he used to take out some free time
daily to help me in proofreading and press-related work. For more than
one memorable year I stayed with that family. Along with the pre-
publication work, we were also able to arrange Lalitha Sahasranama
paarayanas in many houses and also conducted many poojas on Sri Vidya
in Kovvur town. In between, it oen so happened that I had to travel to
Samalkha and Jammu ashram in order to arrange for some money needed
for printing work. By now a good number of my disciples from different
parts of the country like Jammu, Panipat, Hyderabad, and Kurnool, started
showing interest and cooperated nancially to print and publish these
books.
Once the printing was over, plans were made to release the books in a
grand and graceful function at Shivaji Spoorthy Kendra at Srisailam.
Although it was not a very big event, it was by no means a small one either.
is event was at the Shivaji Spoorthi Kendram on an Ugadi day in 2003.
Gollapudi Maruthi Rao, a well-known writer and cine artist from Chennai
was the chief guest. Sridevi Sajit (Kerala), Prof. V. Sarala (Hyderabad) and
almost all of my disciples from across the country attended the book-
release event. Two books and one CD (on Srichakra pooja) were also
released on that day. Being Ugadi day (Telugu New Year day), there was a
heavy crowd in and around Srisailam. A few choultries were booked in
advance for the accommodation of the participants, and Dr. Padmanabha
Acharlu (Organising Secretary) of Shivaji Spoorthi Kendram, generously
permitted us to use the hall and rooms for accommodation and function.
ere were no words to express my feelings on that day, when the dream
came true. Dr. Satyanarayana of Atmakur introduced Gowrishankar (his
brother-in-law) who had been the instrumental force for the entire works
right from the printing to publishing, and in the book-release function. My
poorvashram older brother, sister, brother’s daughter, sister’s son, my sister-
in-law etc. also attended this prestigious function.
at was the rst time I happened to taste Ugadi pachadi which is
prepared specially for Ugadi celebrations in AP. It was brought from K.
Satyanarayana’s house at Kurnool and reminded me of my life, with all its
avours—a little bitter, a little sweet, a little sour etc. I thanked all who
worked to send this pachadi and for distributing it to everybody who
attended the function. us the occasion became both bitter and sweet. In
my thanksgiving speech aer the book release I tried my best to convey my
soul-stirring feelings to all associated in turning my dreams into reality. But
I was not satis ed in doing so, because such was the emotional recharge,
such was the love and dedication of each and every one, in making it
happen. Aer the release of books I stayed for one more day in Srisailam,
and le for Kovvur with Uma. e books were taken by M/s. Giri Trading
Co. of Chennai for distribution. Gowrishankar personally went to Chennai
and made arrangements for the distribution of the books and signed an
agreement with the company.
 A Joke Of Six Lakhs

O
 G P  day in 2009, my friend Gollapudi Maruthi
Rao, perhaps aer seeing a few of my scribblings here and there,
once planted in me an inspiration and made a request too, asking
in one of his lectures, “As you have the talent and knowledge, why don’t
you pen down your memories?” He stressed further, “at may be in the
form of an autobiography. If you so grace it, it will be and remain a source
of immense inspiration to the coming generations.” Any unapplied talent
provided by nature eats away into our con dence level. A yearning to
scribble erupted many times in me, but mostly people would pour water
upon it, to make sure it wouldn’t arise again. But it is the law of nature that
anything suppressed comes out with double the force, and sometimes in
double volumes! Remember! Maruthi Raoji had only fanned the ames, for
I had always been pondering with weak hesitation at how it would be
possible for me to pen an autobiography. I had of course, read several
autobiographies of many well-placed celebrities, titans, sages, saints,
towering personalities, temple gures etc. Whether they were really true or
not, they sold like hot cakes. I know very well that I am a simple man
though not a simpleton, but was I a person to venture an
autobiography . . . ? But when inspiration comes from a sincere and
dedicated source, that itself takes care of everything. at’s what happened
to me aer hearing the sincere and inspiring words of Maruthi Raoji, and
the disease spread to my so- called inner circle disciples too. e pressure
started mounting, and the writer in me woke up from the Samadhi. And
now it is with doubled force that my nature is slowly but surely guiding me
to write down my experiences as sadhaka , sanyasi , friend, beggar,
stranger, luminary, disciple, guru etc. etc.
Just within a week’s time, necessary points were conceived and the
embryo started gaining mass and I started writing. Or rather my ngers
with some impetus, started playing on the dead typewriter keys turning
those buried experiences into live words, like a painter. Sitting in the
upstairs room of Ramesh’s residence at Vishnu Township, I started typing
directly on one old typewriter. True to my conscience, the only sakshi or
witness to my writing was my Guruji, and I always sensed her presence in
the room. ough I had conceived a lot of writing in my poorvashram life, I
had not delivered much and had not written anything except for one or
two stray experiences. It was a good thing that it did not happen, otherwise
it would have much hurt many hearts for lack of sophistication in
expression. At that time, the faculties of expression were still developing,
and reached fruition later through guru and guru’s grace. So untimely
expression can actually nullify the purpose of a work. at is where the
guru steps in. She did not permit it to happen, and the poorvashram and its
fellows were spared. en again, what does an avadhoota have to do with
the poorvashram at all! What is there to be said that’s new? e whole
world is verily stinking and sinking in that, and irrecoverably too. How and
why should one try to describe an untasted and rotten mango? So skipping
this en masse, I started writing about experiences starting from those all-
graceful golden days aer my leaving home and the desire-rich ashrama
(stage of life), moving to the knowledge-rich universe of sanyas ashram . It
was the story of a search with full of hurdles, pain, and bitterness. But not
at all a wasted life, being based upon the solid and eternal principles of our
Vedic rishis who laid down their lives with joy for the welfare of the whole
of humanity. In the record time of just thirty- ve days I completed the
writing of the rst part of my autobiography which is titled ‘e pyre of the
destined’. When I completed writing an episode in the book, I would ring
the bell calling to my room either Sujatha, Hari or Swetha, and ask them to
read aloud the just-typed episode, listening to it as if I were a third person.
And the sweet ripples created in my being would plunge me in ecstasy,
tears in my eyes at hearing my own say.
Aer the thirty- ve days of writing the rst part, I came to live in
Brindavan Nagar at Satyanarayana’s residence, where I stayed for four
years. Sitting in my room there, I started re-writing (the second writing) the
matter. One Nagaraju (of Sri Ram Typing Institute) would come every day
at night to help me with the typing and that was completed in a very short
time too. I used to send a few episodes to D. Sitaramaiah in Hyderabad for
rst reading, who sent his comments daily over the phone. Maruthi Rao
also sent comments through e-mail. e comments from both were very
encouraging, boosting my mental strength and the inner faith that this
could be published.
But I had to deal again the same devil of hunting a sponsor or publisher.
As I was a new entrant, none of the famous and well-established publishers
were ready to take on the risk of publishing my autobiography (where the
name sells, not the stuff). Finally I decided that Abhaya Varada, the savior
will take care of the printing and publishing. Just passing the buck onto an
imaginary entity would not solve the problem, in order to raise money, it is
we humans who have to ‘roll out the papad ’ or put in the arduous work.
So, though the prospects of arranging money for printing the book looked
bleak, yet shing for them continued.
In the meantime, some of my distressed disciples in Kurnool read the
manuscript too, and though they were generous in offering their comments,
were not generous with their money purses. Prof. Varma took a copy of the
manuscript to his father Sudarshan Varma at Ananthapur who began
translating the book into Telugu. Prof. Krishna (a friend of Sudarshan
Varma) also tried his hand at rewriting the idioms from the English version.
But I was not satis ed with the rewritten version, since in the process much
of the originality was lost, and the work had turned into an abridged form.
So I humbly declined his changes and decided to publish the original
version. Sudarshan Varma also completed the translation work in record
time. He told me he had an experience of the presence of my Guruji
(Avadhoota Tara Mayee) during his translation work.
Once the translation work was over and the Telugu manuscript came into
my hands, Duvvuri Narasa Raju (my disciple and General Secretary of
Ashraya Trust) offered to take over the responsibility of getting it printed
through his friend, Balaji Naidu of Conquer (Hyderabad), without a second
thought and even without any idea of how he was going to nance it. But
anyway the Telugu version ‘Nirdeshita Gamyam’, publishing work started at
Hyderabad and at whose impulse, Tara knows! Later, the total costs of
printing etc. and hosting the book release function were borne by the
dedicated souls, Kurakula Satyanarayana and Maram Ramesh Babu.
On Makara Sankranti (Harvest festival) day in 2011, an elegant function
was organized for the release of ‘Nirdeshita Gamyam’. A few recognized
dignitaries in the eld of literature and samskara were invited, and a grand
function organized to accomplish the release, wherein Harikishore Kumar
(Vice-president of Ashraya Trust) took the onus of convening the
programme. Dignitaries like Chokappu Narayan Swami, Chakilam
Vijayalakshmi, Bhaskar Madanpalli, Mamidala Krishna Murthi,
Ashytavadhani, . . . etc attended and released the Telugu version. I was
very emotional at the function and during my speech on the book, I burst
into tears several times. Mohi and Raju had a difficult time bringing me
back to normalcy whenever I was in tears. Even though my disciples
pressurized me to give the books for distribution, I decided otherwise. I
wanted them to be given free to readers. (e bad experience with the
previous book distribution through Giri Traders had very much disturbed
me, as they had not paid any proper amount).
Up next was the task to publish the original version ‘e pyre of the
Destined’ at the earliest possible date, and for me a herculean one. Balaji
Naidu, the printer’s rough estimations of the printing cost would be too
high. Devulapalli Ravikumar, another of my disciples in Hyderabad, came
forward to sponsor the publication and committed to payment of the costs.
Publishing work of the book started at Hyderabad, while I was staying with
Devulapalli Ravikumar at West Maredpalli in Hyderabad. All along with
this was the liability of an ailing body and overtaxed mind, since I was
suffering in those days from the inherited cardiac problem that was the
boon of my poorvashram . But for Sujatha who was like Maa Tara’s twin I
must say, in taking care of my needs during the proofreading of the book, it
would have been very difficult. Once the pages were typeset, Balaji Naidu
calculated afresh the cost of paper and printing, binding charges etc. and it
turned out that the amount exceeded what we had anticipated. Now
Ravikumar was showing signs of developing cold feet, stepping back from
his commitment as the amount was now looking too large and beyond his
capacity. On the other side, Balaji Naidu was not ready to compromise on
the quality of paper/printing etc. either and was stuck at adopting the
international standard for the book’s body.
 I was in a disturbed mood, and upset with myself at having done this
blunder of writing a book. ough it was no papa or sin to do so, it had
become a huge source of tension for me and my disciples. ere must have
been some hidden impetus though—because even a second proofreading
was happening. Kalyan Chaitanya, another disciple in Hyderabad was
helping me regarding that. One day I was brooding about the money, that I
did not have even a single penny and nothing in hand to pay for the
advance to Balaji Naidu, the printer. In that tful mood of anger and stress
I scolded Ravi, and it may have been due to that he also was in an irritated
mood. Kalyan then arrived as usual to help me correct the proof. Ravi
closed the door in anger and would not allow him to enter and meet me.
Kalyan felt insulted and so did I. I called Kalyan back and paci ed him.
Even with all these tensions, I stayed back at his residence till the
proofreading was over.
I resumed the search of somebody to sponsor the expenses of printing the
book. One Nagishetty of Atmakur came to the rescue. He was willing to
furnish the entire amount for the printing charges, as well as for the book
release function. He is a businessman dealing in red chilies, having shops in
Atmakur and Vijayawada. Providence at last lead the amount to be handed
over to Maram Ramesh and I now had some relief from the tensions. e
printing work of ‘e pyre of the destined’ was complete and a date xed
for the release of the book.
ere was a grand function organized at Vishnu Township on the day of
my birthday (Vaishaka Poornima) of 2011. Mananeeya Surya Narayana
Rao, a senior pracharak of Sangh was the chief guest for the book release
event. My spiritual brother Swami Abhayananda, Dr. Vijaya Sarathi (Chief
Editor of Jagruthi), MDY Ram Murthy, and Dr. Padmanabha Acharlu (Org.
secretary of Shivaji Spoorthi Kendram) were the speakers. T. Harikishore
Kumar of Bangalore and Swapna Akhil took up the responsibility of
anchoring and the programme was conducted very well. I was very happy
and charged with a lot of emotions that day. My health condition was very
unstable due to episodes of severe heart problems. Even with the overcast
weather on account of my health, I could remote-control the event to the
satisfaction of all.
A few months went by with this sense of a dream accomplished, but then
there came a bolt from the blue. One day, even as I lay on the sick bed or
you could call it death bed as well, the same great generous Nagishetty, the
person who had spent the good amount of six lakhs for printing, publishing
and arranging the book release function, came to visit me. Most matter-of-
factly, with no remorse, repentance, or sense of guilt whatsoever, and in
simple words he asked me to return the amount. I was shell-shocked, and
felt as if my bed were sinking into the ground.
Aer Abhaya Varada had given him the due receipts acknowledging his
donations for printing this book, and his contribution also recognized duly
through acknowledgements in the book as well as on the podium etc., if
aer all these he was now asking for the refund of his contribution, was not
that a cruel joke? Previously too he had donated some amounts at every
event. He was a calm and composed person, who had good faith in his
Guruji. I took it in good humour, I thought, aer all what had happened to
him? His version was different. He told me that he had already informed
Ramesh to whom he had handed over the money, that his donation
amount was only the interest portion of the total handed over. Somewhere
there had been a serious communication gap, perhaps the strange
combination of Nagishetty not knowing Hindi, all talks and money
transactions taking place through Sujatha or Ramesh, and me not knowing
Telugu while everyone else did. But Nagishetty was single-pointedly
insisting that he should get the amount back. I discussed this with some of
the disciples, but all of them told me that once the receipt is given by
Abhaya Varada, and his name printed in the book as sponsor I should not
feel obliged to return the amount. So, no one was in favor of paying it back.
But my perspective on this issue was different. I took it otherwise: that
Nagishetty helped me when I was badly in need of money. Now he may be
in need of it, and that is why he’s asking it back. So, even with the
objections from all quarters against this empirical wisdom, I decided to re-
pay the amount with all dignity and treat it as a loan. I asked Ramesh to
borrow some money from moneylenders on my behalf and return the
amount to Nagishetty and Ramesh, as an obedient disciple, borrowed three
lakhs from somebody and did so. Even now I owe Nagishetty the balance of
three lakhs, which I will be prepared to repay as soon as I get a source to
generate that amount.
I never had a personal bank balance, my days counted upon aakasha
vritti. Which means not even a ‘day-to-day basis’, but on a ‘moment-to-
moment’ basis. Living with aakasha vritti means living free and unattached
like a bird of the skies, depending solely on God-gied alms. One thing
occurred to my mind: that I had perhaps done a mistake or paapa by
writing the autobiography. Did I do it because of the push of ego wanting
to project myself as a good sadhaka , or perhaps it was from the ego
stemming from a journey spanning the Himalayas with unique experiences,
or maybe the ego wanted to portray me as a ‘special’ guru? We had all
suffered stress and strain during the making of this book and I curse myself
sometimes that I put my disciples into situations for money matters, for
printing of my books, in addition to my day-to-day expenses for food,
accommodation, travel, medicine, etc. I prayed and prayed to my Guruji
again and again, several times with tears in my eyes, to not allow me to be
so foolhardy as to write books or go around to my disciples ‘begging’ for
sponsoring the works for publication. Even now, as I am typing this second
part of my autobiography, ‘Roaring Silence,’ I feel guilty and a bit anxious
too, whether I am not getting ready to repeat the same saga. But the
consciousness empowers the emotional factor and convinces me: “No, pen
down the experiences you had, in experiential life as a guru, which will
de nitely be useful to the coming generations.” So, the work is in
progress . . . .

13 Guru Poornima is an Indian festival dedicated to spiritual masters and is celebrated on a full
moon day in the month of Ashada according to the Vedic calendar, sometime during July-August.
 A Runa Paid Off

W
   a favour from another, the former will
be indebted to the latter, until the debt is repaid this way or
that way, in this birth or the following ones. e salt that was
eaten must be coughed off by any means. So if you have enjoyed the
favours of others, in any way in any form, and at any time, remember the
dictum: you cannot escape from paying it back. Either pay it back in the
same life in the manner received, or offer the same type, kind, quantum, or
quality of favour to a needy person. It is possible that one may have used
the favour as capital and earned some pro t, but lost the capital later—then
one must be ready to pay it back in some other form. Only then will the
one who accepted the favour be relieved of the debt, in the books of the
Almighty. e law of ‘karma ’ is a very intricate web, and no one can claim
to have understood it without any doubts, without consulting the
scriptures, or through the long-time hearing of satsang with those who have
crossed the barriers of worldly attachment.
During one of the medical camps conducted in a very backward village
near Kurnool town, the doctors came across a person suffering from
paralysis for three or four years. A Muslim by birth, he had been doing
petty jobs and manual labour to earn his bread and had been happy and
contented with his small family and a few friends, until misfortune hit him
with paralysis from waist down. Unable to move around, he had become
dependent upon his wife even to attend the calls of nature and was cursing
his fate. But even aer several rounds with many doctors, who had tried
minor surgery, medication and physiotherapy, Lady Luck did not smile on
the poor guy and the doors of fortune seemed closed for him.
 Our team of doctors also visited him and tried to do the best of whatever
they could. ey came forward with a plan of treatment in some so-far
unexplored direction. First, they started treating the bedsores on his back.
ey approached me to discuss the possibilities of rehabilitating him back to
normal. I told them, “If you are prepared to take care of his day-to-day
treatments with deep dedication like the ordeals of daily visitation and
dressing of wounds, arranging for physiotherapy, and all such other needs
which may be become necessary, then you go ahead. As far as nance is
concerned it will not be a problem. I will take care of the money matters
personally.” ey agreed, and arranged for physiotherapy aer discussing
with some senior doctors in town, and regular ambulance was arranged
through a service organization (of course, with payment for driver, petrol
charges), and everyday one young doctor from Ashraya (a service wing
raised by our devotees to meet such contingencies) team with his two
friends took him to the centre for his exercises with the most modern
machines. On our behest, an average of ten thousand rupees every month
was spent for this purpose: for the ambulance driver, petrol charges, charges
of the doctor at the physiotherapy center, medicines and even for nutritious
food for the patient.
Aer many months of hard and dedicated service of the young doctors,
there were some signs of hope of recovery seen in the patient’s body. Aer
about six months, the doctors updated that he was now far improved from
the crippling stage, and if we could provide him with calipers for supporting
his legs, there might be a possibility for him to walk. Right from day one
that our team started his treatment, I had a positive feeling that by the
grace of the Almighty he would recover one day to lead a normal life. And
it had become a dream for me to see him that way.
e act of pooja is nothing but a means of developing the factors of mind,
called one-pointed dedication and unfailing attention even to insigni cant
aspects involved in any action. I wanted to make the few boys, especially
involved in the medical profession understand the power of dedication and
surrender, and wanted to instill in them the sense of service. is had come
as a God-given opportunity. e boys too took it with the right attitude.
If we want to transform whatever action or seva we do in our daily life
into pooja , we must cultivate the attitude that the recipient of the seva is
the omnipotent Lord himself comes in disguise to test us. And this will put
us in utmost vigilance. So, actions done with full vigilance never fail, and
that is pooja .
Finally I had managed to arrange for the money from some disciples
working in America for the purpose. ose two disciples as a habit used to
keep aside one dollar daily without fail, and on my birthday they would
submit it to me for utilizing in any such service activities. A few of the other
disciples also contributed for this particular rehabilitation purpose. Almost
ninety thousand were spent for the cause, all shouldered by such dedicated
souls.
On Guru Poornima day, as the guru pooja was in progress the young
doctor with his two friends came to me carrying a laptop in their hand.
ey showed me the photographs of that patient, walking in his courtyard
with the support of a walker. His face was shining with the satisfaction of
returning to life. As my Guru Poornima message to disciples I appealed
—“is is what I expect from all of you: do seva and get results like this
young doctor and his friends, the immense sense of satisfaction of having
done justice to their learning and life. I am proud of them.” Everybody was
happy with the incident and they congratulated the doctor and his friends.
On day one, actually I had a memory ashback of my college days, when
I too had faced such a paralysis from neck to feet and lay on my bed as
good as a dead body. An Ayurvedic doctor and my sister’s son, then an
Ayurveda medical student, started treatment with panchakarma procedure,
which is much more difficult to administer than allopathic. With the utmost
care, love and dedication, I came back to normalcy in six months. But to
my wonder, the Ayurvedic doctor who had treated me never accepted even
a single paisa as fees or even for the costly medicines that had been
prepared for my treatment. Every morning he used to come from as far as
een miles away to treat me. When my family and I insisted that he take
payment, he replied, “It was from this house that I had my preliminary
training as Ayurveda doctor. Your uncle (who was a famous Ayurveda
vaidya ) was the guru who taught me and I am not supposed to take any
pecuniary bene ts from my guru’s house.”
When I rst heard about this case of paralysis, that incident from my
college days prompted me to act—due to the favour received from that
vaidya, there was a runa or debt credited on my head. Even though I had
forgotten this incident in the pace of life, my Guruji never forgets. Amma
had calculated and absolved me of my runa , making me an instrument to
arrange seva , of course with the co-operation of a few disciples, for a
person badly in need of treatment. When this was accomplished, that
moment I felt a sigh of relief from within. To whom I should say thanks, to
my destiny? To my Guruji? To my disciples? To the doctor who treated me?
But each and every one must say thanks to Him, the Almighty, for we are
all just students in his school called world, where he teaches us the basics of
being and living this existence, in the inimitable style of His own.
is is not just to remind my people around, but to hold near to their
heart this: do not take a ‘runa’ by accepting services from anybody. Learn to
live within our righteous resources, and if at all any occasion arises to
accept any service from anybody, make it a strong point to repay it with a
sense of gratitude, as early as possible, either back to him or to anybody
badly in need. is way you will be lighter to the core, when you leave this
mortal existence.
Guruji with Meru
Planting Destiny
Food for the Soul
A Simple Master
Language of Love
Connection through lifetimes
Oneness through lifetimes
e hands that serve unconditionally
Feeding Oneness
e re of Awareness
I am always with You
Guru Mandala puja
Unbridled Ecstasy
e wait of Lifetimes
Conferring Brahmarishi title to Mohanji
Guru Tara Mayee appearing
 Activated Inabilities

W
   it or not, my locus operandi or ‘karma
kshetra ’ is Kurnool and the mediums of my operations, or the
conduits through which I demonstrate my knowledge, are
members of the Maram clan. If the others who were and are associated,
connected or related with me, have any case about this, I would say to
them that they have missed the bus.
I had been staying in Kurnool for the last eight years. During my stay in
Kovvur, Kurakula Satyanarayan used to repeatedly insist that I must come
and settle in Kurnool, but I would hesitate—once bitten, twice shy, I
suppose. I was busy with the printing work of my rst book on Srividya.
Before going to stay in Kovvur, I had once visited Satyanarayan who knew
a little Hindi as he had lived Hyderabad a few years with his parents. But
Hari, wife of Ramesh, was totally unfamiliar with languages other than
Telugu. Even though the other family members had all been initiated by
me, and even their other two brothers, Sekhar and Murali in Atmakur as
well as their children, the sh Sujatha was still eluding my catch, reluctant
to take initiation in any school of thought from me. I knew she was at the
fulcrum point, holding lots of elements together with her presence, this
being from the quality of her saadhana done in previous births. So while
waiting for the time to ripen, she engaged herself in seva that worked in
her favour. Finally due to this, the resistance of the karma was eliminated
and she now started expressing signs of interest. So on a good muhurtam I
insisted on her taking initiation and subsequently she too was admitted in
the fold of Srividya saadhana . Of course, even before my arrival they were
acquainted with Lalitha Sahasranama , Shirdi Sai saadhana etc. Now the
family clan known as Maram family, are close-knit, spread and established
well, with several offshoots like a giant banyan tree and that which
accommodates sadhus . My intuition was that they are all well-blessed souls
of commendable past karmas. Nowadays it is very difficult to gather such a
large group of souls together into one such big family, all one-pointed in
their understanding and getting along well together. I have forty-three of
their family members as initiated disciples. is is a feat by itself and a
record to have such a large number of disciples in one family, with a single
guru and in one path. It is totally the result of the grace of Maa upon them.
at such a large family including great grandchildren, does not live
together for business reasons, but in unity with mutual love and harmony,
is exemplary.
So there was a ow of reciprocal evolvement between the Maram family
and I, and it was running smoothly at their residence, with occasional small
get-togethers in the mornings and evenings. ere would be daily
discussions on saadhana or such related activities, which then turned into
daily morning satsang at their house itself. At other times I was busy with
my reading or writing on my forthcoming book on Srividya, a research
paper on the vibrations of bindu . Slowly more and more people began
visiting me and the satsang gained momentum.
I noticed a perceivable change in my lifestyle, as I was not allowed to do
even my daily chores of washing my clothes, cleaning my room, or to
remain on one-time bhiksha only etc., as they had taken up that work
because of the deep devotion towards me. I was slowly becoming lazy and
was like a bookworm eating away the words, only writing or thinking on
my research or spending time with visitors for long periods. I tried to
convince them several times to let me do such petty work on my own, but
they would not permit me, and both sisters Sujatha and Hari took care of
my needs to the minutest of details.
In the following months, I could perceive very well the changes and shi
in their life too: the enhanced dealing patterns with the outside world, the
depth and sweetness of love in their children, and their complete focus on
service as the goal of their lives, both materialistic and spiritual. eir daily
saadhana went very well, and the perspective towards a guru had also
grown strong roots, especially more so in the case of Sujatha. She had been
reluctant to take initiation in the beginning, and her metamorphosis into a
motherly caring disciple was phenomenal and as in the true dictionary
meaning of disciple: someone who believes and helps to spread the
doctrine of another. But there was another problem in front of me, as they
were now starting to treat me as a grandfather rather than guru. I was
losing my identity as their guru and had become like an eldest family
member, for they were dragging and involving me in each and every
matter.
Here one day when I was pondering on whether I was doing right or
wrong, I recalled Swami Ramanandaji of Omkareshwar, who had once got
into a similar situation. He too has an army of sanyasi disciples, and
battalions of householder disciples and admirers from all over the world.
As for his credentials as a virakta, he had dozens of ashrams of his own,
assemblies of hundreds of scholars who were recognized men of wisdom,
and his impartiality and equal vision were all unquestioned in the world of
spirituality. In spite of all these, he was once alleged to be luxurious, rolling
in money, partial, more inclined and more concerned towards the welfare
of some speci c devotees or sanyasi disciples etc. As Swami Abhayanand
was also his disciple, he knows about this better than I do. So one day,
when they all had reached the point of frustration, one of them breaching
all the guru-sishya protocols, alleged right at his face that he had been
con ned and tamed by a circle of people who were restricting him, and
that was irritating others.
Swamiji did not have an answer immediately, but it hurt him for him
being misunderstood. at evening itself we had met while walking and he
dropped that pearl of wisdom onto me, which I cherish to wear now.
Seeing his gloomy face which I had never before seen, I asked about the
reason, and Swamiji said in his inimitable style, “Everything in this world
gets its six relations without fail: opposite, reverse, friendly, neutral,
substitute and itself.
ere are six kinds of rules, customs and codes of conduct in this plane of
existence.

1. e rule of the shastra which you want to attain.

2. Totally opposite thinking of what you want to attain.
3. Substitute thinking, a rule which makes you tempted to attain
 instead of the real goal.
4. Duplicate thinking, rules just to misguide the sadhak.
5. Rule of the helping, friendly aspects, which may be helpful in
attaining your goal.
6. Neutral elements which neither help nor deny.

Only when you recognize, understand, and win over them will you
establish yourself in the ultimate truth. Till then, one of these aspects will
keep disturbing your understanding . . . . whether it is true or that is true,
the world is true, we are doing exactly what is wanted . . . like this there
may be so many branching of thoughts, which will not allow you to remain
in peace.
Swamiji! ese ignorant people make lots of rules of their own liking for
sadhus and want to impose them upon us. And they expect that sadhakas
should follow them, which has nothing to do with the scriptural
requirements for a sincere sadhak . It is just a ploy of placing you in doubt
so you will keep thinking of these matters and you will be wasting time,
and they get away with what they want. Our main aim is how we can keep
our thoughts intact, and continue to reach closer to our goal. Even though
we live in this world, devotees provide us with our needs; it will not bind us
unless we use it for the purpose other than mentioned, and not keep our
goal in mind. A reformer cannot afford to have close intimacy with him
whom he seeks to reform. It was not without compunction that I devised
these pretexts. When it (comprehensive ability) began to grow in
magnitude every day, our de nition of it (knowledge, self, world) has also
been ever-widening.”
So the point here is that when a sadhak settles himself in a peaceful place
for his meditation with the sincere help of dedicated devotees, they become
the eye of storm for passersby, one-time acquaintances, time-pass devotees,
etc. ese people then start to exercise rights upon us using ‘shastras’ that
they formulated just to keep sadhus from in uencing the common people.
is is so that the weakness, and sel sh interests of pro t-minded pawn
brokers, greedy nanciers, and merchants can be protected. Some mean-
minded and characterless drunkards, perverts, and immoral people helped
them for a few pennies. Aer independence, these people who are anti-
Indian, who had been the source of carnal satisfaction to the British
invaders (Buddhists, Jains) all got together and started becoming converts,
claiming equality with chaste Indians. So many school of thoughts have
been deliberately spread among innocent people just to reduce the number
of people becoming sadhus , to confuse the new initiates, and to stop
people from serving the sadhus , the objective being their slow elimination.
is was the main aim of the anti-Vedic religion. Unless the bull is castrated
it will not be useful to a farmer for ploughing his land. Similarly the
prostitutes, greedy merchants, exploiters, ritualistic pundits and anti-social
elements can survive only if people are kept away from the in uence of
sadhus . So all such harrying and tormenting tactics nd sponsors among
any one of those elements. If we pay heed to them, it will only be a loss for
the continuation of our mission to produce dedicated devotees and
disciples. And we will be hurting the very principle of a surrendered sadhak
. So we should not permit the emotional blackmailing, if you are able to
offer the real stuff to give to anyone.”
To avoid the growth of the affection bonds, I used to travel to Kashi or
Panipat (Samalkha) or Indore to stay there for a month or so, but on return
would nd the condition was same. Once when I analyzed myself
thoroughly and true to heart, I realized that my inner being wanted to do
some solid things for this family group, which might be out of reach of my
abilities or understanding. But something prompted me from within to do
something so that the sense of service in them could be preserved,
protected and developed as an example for the generations to come.
Sometimes I felt like I was caged there, and even some other disciples in
Kurnool sarcastically pasted a label on my forehead as ‘Maram family’s
Guruji’. Finally I decided that if I had a solid and result-oriented thing to
offer and if only a few were equipped to face the necessary hardships, I
could then concentrate only just upon them. If even one among them
gained perceivable results, it would be the gain of the whole clan, which is
what the shastras also say. So I developed a deaf ear.
But their logic and perspective too is different, that they are doing their
‘guru seva ,’ which is ‘sishya dharma’ . If I buy their logic for some time, in
reply will I be able to tell that I have done justice to the ‘guru dharma ’,
what I was supposed to do?
 Hungry For Affection

H
   to age, religion, caste, creed, and gender.
Everybody is hungry for either this or that. Some crave for food,
some others are aer love, some chase aer money, a few ght
for fame, possession or status. But the name of the game is always the same
hunger, the only force that drives this universe. e food satisfying each
type of hunger has to be sourced, prepared, and eaten in a particular,
established way. But a human does not use this logic, and tries to bend the
rule of nature as per his whims. is then leads him to defeat in his pursuit,
and deprives him of what he deserves, and he starts to feel depressed,
losing interest in his actions. Eventually hopelessness sets in, and a sense of
doom. In order to get anything, should not that thing exist in the rst
place? If what you are seeking does not exist in this world, or is not of this
world, where are you going to get it from? Can anyone drink water from a
mirage? Can a barren woman bear a son who becomes a hero and king of
the land?
e hunger in the case of children however is different. A child only
experiences the needs and necessities for survival—their hunger for food is
only from that, and not the result of desire. So they can be called innocent
and pure. When someone’s needs are met or when we are able to ful ll
their desire, we may feel happiness and they may be our dearest ones.
Meeting a need is duty, done with love. Ful lling a desire is interest, done
with kama (desire/lust) , not duty. I have been staying in Kurnool for the
past eight years. All these years and without fail, my disciples have
assembled together to celebrate my birthday in a grand manner, and almost
all participate religiously with a sense of duty and devotion. ey manage
to nd and steal a day’s time away from the hands of materialism and their
busy life schedules, and spend it with spirituality. A variety of programs are
organized to make the day special. One year they had as usual decided to
organize a Srividya navavarana pooja at Satyanarayana’s residence, where I
was staying like a bird in a cosy nest. Preparation was all underway, but
hearing some unknown call from within, I felt that I should do something
meaningful this time for my satisfaction. I told my disciples that instead of a
big gathering and pooja etc., it would be better if we arranged some
annadaanam or feeding of the poor, or give some educational assistance to
the needy children around. My inclination always is to do some kind of
seva for the needy, and my entire teachings too are based on the principle
of seva itself as the highest saadhana . ey agreed to conduct the pooja
programme on a small scale at the home where I was staying, and to
visiting a boys orphanage nearby that morning and distributing some
clothes, books etc. I added, “Since we are doing the seva of distributing
clothes etc, why don’t we also organize lunch for them, and let us also dine
along with the children.” ey agreed and made arrangements for
procuring the needed clothes, notebooks, sweets etc., in addition to the
lunch.
I involved myself in the arrangements too and told my disciples to also
take ice cream in cups to distribute to the children. All of us including
Satyanarayan, Sujatha, Ramesh, Hari, Ratnamaiah, Murali, Sekhar with his
family from Atmakur, and a few others went to the orphanage where the
staff had assembled the children together. I noticed the small children
looking at me with perplexed curiosity. is may have been because it is not
uncommon for sadhus to be unfortunately introduced to children as
beggars or child-catchers. So they were eager to know why I was there and
what I wanted from them. As I was totally a nirakshar bhattacharya
(unlettered) in Telugu, the local language, Ratnamaiah had to brie y
introduce me to them all. e children recited a few slokas from the
Bhagawat Gita and one of them also sang a patriotic song in Telugu. e
disciples who had accompanied me much appreciated all this and also
played with the children for some time.
In the meantime, the sound of the bell announcing lunchtime was heard.
We all sat down to lunch together, seating ourselves in rows without
making any discrimination between the inmates there. Aer saying a few
mantras, they started enjoying the ‘Rayalaseema dishes’ that had been
specially prepared for that occasion. I was in a very joyful mood. With one
of my disciples translating for me, I asked one of the boys how he had
enjoyed the lunch. Seeing the happy and radiant faces of those children at
that moment was really one of the most ful lling experiences of my
lifetime. Even today when I see small children relishing their midday
lunches in our new-found establishment, the memory of that day comes
back to me. We had all forgotten about the ice cream, and as they were
almost nishing the meal, I declared that they were going to be served with
ice cream. When the children heard this, they were so thrilled they
screamed out in joy. For me it was not merely the sound of happiness but
verily the well-chanted verses of the Vedas themselves. e ice cream was
soon served and everybody began enjoying it. Among them was one little
boy who walked up to me and told me in his childish voice, “Swami, I have
not eaten ice cream before, today I am eating for the rst time, it is so
tasty.” He was totally in the clouds, and I could see the rapture on his face.
It was difficult for me to control my tears for some time. For a moment I
recalled a scene during a visit to an expensive restaurant along with the
family of one of my disciples. ey were well-to-do, and the family
consisted of husband, wife and their ve-year old son. Usually I avoid such
parties in hotels, but this family was very close to me and it was the
birthday of the disciple. Just at the end of the meal, as was their ritual, they
ordered ice cream. It must have of course been costly, perhaps of a hundred
or hundred y rupees each. We were enjoying it and in the meantime the
boy aer just tasted it once or twice, le it on the table saying, “Mummy, ee
ice cream em baaga ledu.” (Mummy, I don’t like this icecream.) I was very
troubled at this, but kept quiet.
Now here at the orphanage I could sense the contrast in the attitude and
approach and the contradictions in the world: the extravagance in the rich
man’s son throwing away the ice cream, and the deep enjoyment of a poor
boy of the same age relishing ice cream, unmindful of quality. ough the
ice cream we had taken to feed the children may only have cost around ten
or een rupees per cup, the happiness generated in the hearts of these
children was far beyond any value. So one can conclusively say, and it is the
conventional wisdom too, that if there is any single thing under the sky
which money cannot get for us, it is affection. Everybody is always hungry,
and hungers for the all-elusive affection. One cannot purchase love or
affection with any amount of money. You may be rich, poor, or middle-
class but to have the idea of purchasing affection is like living in a fool’s
paradise.
In the evening, all of us sat together in the hall for Lalitha Sahasranama
archana with owers. Just aer the completion of archana and arathi , they
gied me with clothes, some money, and other useful items as tokens of
their love and affection. Payasam (Sweet rice) which had been offered to
‘Amma’ as naivedyam , was distributed to all as prasadam . I was about to
climb the steps to go upstairs to my room, when I saw the maid servant at
the home standing near the steps. She shyly handed me a small napkin
wrapped in paper, and eleven rupees and said, “Mei ek gareeb hoon, aap ke
janmadin keliye meine yah toa laya. Sweekar karen .” (I’m not very well-
to-do, so I could only get a small gi for your birthday, please accept it), I
gladly accepted it from her, feeling that its value was higher than anything
else I had received that day. Once again there were tears in my eyes, as I
remembered the story of the widow who offered humble amalaki fruits as
bhiksha to Adi Shankara. Even today, I treasure that small napkin and keep
it in my almirah. My thought is it’s not the great acharyas , gurus, or vaidika
pundits who sustain the real dharma -- but the unassuming and innocent
folk, the real pillars of sustainable love in this world due to whom this
creation is owing smoothly in spite of all the mountain of aws.
When I look back, I remember very well the days I lived in the abject
agony of loveless relationships, and with the suppressions of legitimate
needs as a child. And I am of the opinion that little children are always
hungry, not for food but for real affection and love. ese I failed to get, or
had not the intelligence to feel when they passed over me, and never
especially in childhood. is is what prompts me to train and educate
children to recognize, understand and enjoy genuine love, and also pass it
on to others in the same way and with the same quality they had received
it. at is my life’s mission. Children are our future. If we injure them, and
debase human emotions, character and knowledge, what does that really
imply for us? Don’t forget that our future births will begin through entering
the wombs of the coming generations, and that we will need to keep taking
such births till we attain the nal liberation. If we spoil our children’s
characters out of laziness, ignorance, or fanciful theories, we will only be
preparing them to become the worst possible parents.
Bringing up a child is a full-time job requiring the utmost care, love, and
attention. One may remember this.
 Curry Leaf Inspirations

I
  S Indian culinary tradition, in almost every household
there is the use of curry leaves (leaves of the plant Murraya koenigii ),
also known sometimes as sweet neem. It has the unique character of
enhancing the aroma of the dish it has been added to, and also disinfects
the food preparation from microbes. ese days, curry leaf is an ingredient
in a lot of medicines that are exported to western countries. In India, it is
deemed an insigni cant thing as it is readily available and in plenty, but
without it the basic taste of the food is totally different. However the
destiny of curry leaves has become such that before commencing eating, to
rst pick out and discard these leaves as a rst duty. Sadly it is even
considered good culture these days to do so in spite of its proven bene t in
digestive disorders. I remember from childhood, that my mother or older
sister prepared a drink consisting of buttermilk mixed with curry leaf paste
and hing (asafoetida), when any of the children complained of uneasiness
from indigestion or gas formation. When people put aside the curry leaf
from the curry, sambar etc. while eating, they mistakenly think that its
utility is over, it is now useless having done its job of transferring its
fragrance into the food items.
Brooding over my role as a guru among disciples and devotees, I feel that
my life too has not had more worth than curry leaves, and in fact my
experience in this regard has only con rmed this conjecture. I am
habituated by default to think about and work for the welfare of my
disciples, not just for their spiritual development but in the mundane
aspects of their lives too. I do not consider mundane development as
something alien and separate to spiritual development. For wholeness and
completeness in mundane life, it should contain the aspects of spirituality.
And for spiritual life to be whole it, should contain the elements of a
mundane life. ey cannot be considered as separate entities, and should
go hand in hand as reciprocal and complementary factors. ey are not all
at odd with each other. But spiritual welfare is paramount.
Since it has always been my aspiration that my disciples be blessed with
good fortune, that tendency to look out for it has been in me right from my
inception into the eld of social work. I took to social work by choice, not
fall into it by chance. It is my passion and dream to see everyone in the
world sail life smoothly, effortlessly weathering any troubles in business,
personal, social, or religious spheres. But in the eyes of some devotees and
friends, this is an ‘over-involvement’ as a guru, which I am not supposed to
do. But my understanding and logic, in the light of my beloved Guruji’s
teachings, is quite different. My life being society-oriented, it is only natural
that those who are more in proximity with me in the sense of helping,
aiding or associating with me in my mission, they will be bound to receive
more grace, attention and interaction. is is just like how it is with body
parts, it has to be even and equal. Everyone who associates themselves with
any spiritual entity should remember this. In the Gita , Lord Krishna says,
‘samoham sarva bhooteshu na me dvesyoti na priyah, ye bhajanti tu maam
bhaktya mayi te tesu capy aham’. (I envy no one, nor am I partial to
anyone. I am equal to all. But whoever renders service unto Me in devotion
is a friend, is in Me, and I am also a friend to him). If a bystander expects
that my relationship with him will be the same as with someone who is a
partner in my mission, then that is not possible. It is only in attitude that we
consider every being as equal, though in the realm of karma not all are
equal. Whoever serves Him with their work is really nearer to Him. e
resources to carry out the mission are generated from here itself. Whoever
submits themselves at my disposal to partner in my mission will receive the
grace in that proportion. And also, if I take any personal favor from any of
my disciples for my food, accommodation, clothes etc. that is treated as a
runa (debt), and grace is bound to happen there as well. Everyone has to
repay it in some way, because in this world everything is for a price. e
words of Isha Upanishad come to mind: ‘kurvan eveha karmani jijivishe
shatam samaah ’ (doing karma with detached perspective, the fruits will
not stick to you in even a lifespan of a hundred years). A man himself is in
debt, can in no way serve others or work for others. Only work done in
sel ess service alone can give us purity of heart. Work done for wages does
not gives merit. As long as there is life in this body, it is not possible to
depend on bhiksha alone, since I am in the eld of social activities. I need
resources, and good and generous hearts to back my doings. I cannot pluck
money from a tree, not even God could do that. You have to learn to meet
whatever you need, from the resources at our disposal. I need decent
clothes, travel expenses and some other little things also required to carry
on my day-to-day dealings. Carrying a magic wand for this purpose is a
myth. All my needs will not be based on bhiksha alone and occasionally
there may arise the need to ask the wealthy for assistance. ey do offer it,
but some of them do it with an ‘application’ in their minds like: ‘I am giving
this to Guruji, so he is now obliged to see to my needs too, and he must
utilize his tapashakti (accumulated energy)’. I usually oblige to such feelings
in my disciples and that may need me to involve myself in their lives if I
discover them moving in the wrong path. I have to then direct them to the
proper path according to the dharma shastras . It may not always be
possible for them to follow but with my repeated ‘involvements’, I make
sure that they do. ey may get irritated and frustrated sometimes, but
when they see positive results, they then appreciate Guruji and repent for
the irritation too.
I have related my many visits to Andhra Pradesh for about twenty years.
ere was a family known to me, introduced by their father himself who
was staying in Sri Sailam. At one time I was serving as a dedicated sevak in
Vanavasi Kalyan Ashram. is was among the Jaunsari tribes of Dehradun
district in then Uttar Pradesh, now known as Uttarakhand and the credit
goes to Respected Bhaskar Rao Kalambi, who brought me into this social
service organization that works for the betterment of tribals all across India
in educational, medical, and self-employment aspects. While working
there, I developed cardiac problems and was advised to undergo balloon
angioplasty surgery and to go to Puttaparthi for superior treatment.
e family in Andhra Pradesh mentioned above helped me a lot in
addition to one Prabhakar of Vanavasi Kalyan Ashram stationed at
Hyderabad. Aer the successful treatment at Sri Satya Sai Baba’s super
specialty hospital in Puttaparthi, I was asked to rest for a month or so, and
this family requested me to stay with them during the resting period. As
they were a childless couple, they were both able to utilize their time away
from office work, taking leave in alternative weeks. I stayed with them as
one of their family members. ey poured unconditional and
unquestioning love upon me. It is only natural for a common man to want
to do something for their devotion to grow. I too felt that I must do some
pooja or japam for them for their conjugal life which was happy but vacant,
and prayed to ‘Amma’ sincerely and wholeheartedly several times, to bless
them with a child. It materialized just aer a few years, aer taking some
boosting steps. Some Ayurvedic medicines were prescribed and prepared by
my poorvashram nephew, a practicing Ayurveda doctor in Bangalore, and a
havan also was prescribed and conducted by me in their house for that
purpose. Finally, they were showered with the grace of the Almighty in the
form of a baby boy. Of course they became very happy and I too felt
relieved at the success of my mission, that I was able to effect some
happiness in their life.
Years passed, and their devotion in me and their faith in God also
strengthened. ey used to visit me whenever a function was conducted by
me, and I too stayed with them for a day or two sometimes when I visited
Hyderabad. ey too were initiated in Srividya by me, and they were doing
good saadhana . ey had purchased their own house, and received
promotions in their jobs and were a well-to-do and happy entity as a
family. I never thought of claiming any credit for all this, but this book
being a life story, all my life incidents carry messages. So I will not be doing
justice if I fail to mention it from fear of allegations of appropriation. But I
know for sure that I was just an instrument in awakening their dormant
prarabdha by inspiring and initiating them to do something, and
encouraging them to repose faith in God. In all such cases, I never say
‘because of me,’ since I know well that it is the Mother, my Devi who I
worship devoutly, who takes care of the needs of my disciples, provided
they do their saadhana with devotion, belief, and surrender. I do work as
an advocate if I nd them genuine at heart. In this case too, the same thing
had happened, due to their saadhana , and abundant faith and devotion to
guru and Amma.
Later when I had settled in Kurnool, I busied myself with social service
activities like satsangs , samoohika saadhanas , conducting akhanda Sai
nama japas , and of course the rehabilitation programs for disadvantaged
children, without concern for my rapidly deteriorating health. I was in
need of more and more funds for building construction, or publication of
my books, or such other needs to help the deserving. During one of such
program, I asked this family too to donate some amount to the building
funds. ey not only gladly agreed but also committed a good amount in
lakhs, and told me that my next trip to Hyderabad, I should visit them and
that they would make arrangements for the money. Subsequently I was in
Hyderabad for a medical check-up and was staying with another disciple,
who took me to their house one evening, and I hoped to collect the
committed amount. ey welcomed us happily, serving us delicious dosas
and coffee. When I brought to their attention the purpose of my visit to
their home and reminded them of their commitment, they said, “Swamiji,
it was a joke”. (Another joke of lakhs!) I felt the earth moving away under
my feet. e next day, this promised amount was going to go towards the
advance payment for a at in the city that was to be the liaison office of the
trust. I managed to collect a few lakhs from some other disciples but it was
not sufficient for the complete advance payment. As a result of this cruel
joke, I failed to purchase the proposed at for the liaison office and
returned with my other disciples, without any comment on the issue. I
thought to myself that I was not in a position to understand others or their
capacities, and that was the reason for this happening. Or maybe at that
time they were not in a position to spare such a big amount, so I told myself
to forget this issue, and compromise with the disappointment.
Upon return to the home of the devotees where I was staying, as I was
eating my lunch, I noticed the boy sitting next to me throwing away all the
curry leaves on his plate. When I asked him why he was doing so, he
replied with a smile, “Guruji!” Because its use is now over.” What he meant
by that I don’t know, but it struck me otherwise. It seemed like the
predicament I had found myself in, resulting from my naiveté. It was the
very story of the curry leaves. One makes use of them for their fragrance,
then throws them out unceremoniously when the purpose has been served.
Everyday this cruel joke is in icted upon curry leaves!
is type of incident could happen with anyone under the sky, but my
request and appeal to everyone who reads this, is to never hurt anyone like
this. When payback time comes, it will be very difficult to bear because in
Kali Yuga , the interest rate is rather high.
 Faceless Crowd Aimless Mob

I    this crowd of faceless creatures, not people. ey who have
lost their faces in anticipation of nonexistent ones. I am in search of my face
amongst them.
is crowd is like a herd of cattle, goaded on by the craze for money and
the hunger for power. It does not move of its own choice but pushed
forward, moving stream-like. In fact the crowd doesn’t even know where it’s
heading to, yet it continues to ow aimlessly. It is being controlled, and its
ow monitored. e police controlling the crowd will not permit any
lingering or re ecting to think about the direction of movement. Day in
and day out, and at every moment, we who are the crowd, are being
similarly pushed through a journey that is uninformed, unde ned and
aimless. is is the order of life, happening right since the birth of this
universe. at is why it has been called samsara —the word that means
‘wandering through’. But why and what for? None but the guru has the
answer to this. Everyone from behind is pushing the fellow in front, like in
the story of Ganesh Prasad .
ere is a story about a Ganesh temple in a village. As everyone knows,
the elephant-headed god Ganesh has a broken tusk. e tusk of the idol in
this temple was of premium size—it was so wide that one could put a hand
inside. Some devotees believed that there was something special about this,
so they would stick their hands inside the tusk of this Ganesh, and pretend
to taste it as if Ganesh had graced them with prasadam . One day it so
happened that aer the early morning pooja , the poojari or priest inserted
his hand inside the tusk as was the custom now, and suddenly started
dancing like never before. Some people asked for the reason, and the
poojari told them sarcastically that he had got a special Ganesh Prasad of
divine taste that day. Believing his words, everyone there took turns at
putting their hands inside and started dancing too. A sadhu who had just
arrived there asked why so many people were dancing around, and a
bystander told him about the Ganesh Prasad . e sadhu went near the
tusk inspected it, and to his astonishment discovered a big scorpion inside.
Whoever had put his hand inside had been stung, and it was out of the
pain that they were all jumping, and not really dancing! But no one had
stopped the others from putting their hands inside, and even encouraged
them to do so. It was the sadhu who revealed the truth and stopped the
drama.
It is the same case with the crowd: the constant pushing and urging to
follow the crowd. Everybody is living by the command, and for the
command of the crowd. People refuse to apply themselves, sometimes are
not allowed to do so.
I was in Kovvur, in Andhra Pradesh in those days, fully involved and
immersed in the work for the publication of my rst set of books on
Srividya. I was introduced to Datt and Madhavi, a couple who were friends
with Gowrishankar and his family. is Brahmin couple, in their formative
years had not received any systematic exposure to Vedic practice as
recommended by the scriptures, but did good irregular saadhana by
reciting sahasranamas etc. (I label this type of saadhana irregular, since it is
preceded by initiation. In our Vedic system, one may do such things by
watching others and feeling inspired and motivated by them, or due to
some previous samskaras. Later when a competent authority nding it
worthy or correct, can regularize the same thing by initiating one into the
same saadhana . But it cannot lead to any fruit if there is no belief in the
guru-sishya process. So in a sense one is negating a part of the Veda’s
teaching). By virtue of them being Brahmins , those natural tendencies had
manifested in them, but they had not been properly initiated into any
established stream of saadhana . Gowrishankar and his wife Uma insisted
that I initiate them into the beginning steps of Srividya saadhana . Both
were working, he as an accountant in a small shop and she as a
kindergarten teacher. As a married couple, they had been childless for
many years, and as the whole world does, they too approached me with
this issue, and asked for a remedy. Seeing that they were genuine devotees
of Maa, I initiated them into the rituals of Balatripurasundari. ey
performed the saadhana with the entire team.
ey visited Kovvur for every religious program, and would visit me
almost every day at Gowrishankar’s residence to help me with the proof
reading. When I completed my work, I le Kovvur and settled in Kurnool
with the intention of leading a retired life, bidding farewell to the activities
which I did previously. (But it never did happen at Kurnool, for in Hindi
kar —means do, and nool —means endless thread!) So the direction of my
activities was now diverted more towards service, serving people in
whatever they needed—educational, medical etc. and with the aim of
reducing the, what seems like an ever-increasing gap between the haves
and the have-nots. But to achieve that I had the herculean task of
convincing the ‘haves’ that whatever riches they owned were actually due
to the blessing of God, and if they wanted to continue to be in His good
books, they must help and serve the ‘have- nots’. Otherwise soon both they,
the ‘haves’ and the ‘have-nots’ will be without hope. In view of this mission,
apart from my own daily saadhanas , I used to conduct common people-
oriented events like samoohika saadhana like lakshaarchana , akhanda
Sainama japas , satsangs etc. in Kurnool. is kept me even busier than
before. Retired life had taken on an entire new meaning! Hardly could I
nd any rest, even though a separate and well-equipped room had been
built for me at Vishnu Township by Ramesh. And in reality, it would never
have been possible for me too, to live a life of retirement. Of course, as my
disciples and friends say, it may be because of my over-involvement in their
life other than their saadhana . Anyway, let it be as it is, because I love to
be theirs, whether they like to be mine or not.
In the meantime, one day Uma called to tell me that Datt and Madhavi
were not on good terms with their family members in Kovvur, and as they
had both lost their jobs, were nding it very difficult to meet ends. ey
needed my help in nding jobs or settle elsewhere than Kovvur. Even
without a second thought, I discussed the matter with Ramesh, who runs
an automobile spare parts shop in Kurnool, and he agreed readily to
appoint Datt in his shop as accountant. e family then shied to Kurnool,
with Ramesh arranging a rented house for their stay, and Datt joining his
shop as an accountant. One of my acquaintances, who happened to be the
head of a private school offered to appoint Madhavi too as a teacher in her
school. us they settled in Kurnool. I used to drop by their residence
occasionally and they also frequented the functions arranged by Abhaya
Varada. Years passed thus and the relationship with the couple deepened
not only with me, but also with the family members of Satyam and
Ramesh. All hearts mingled together, and Datt and Madhavi were treated
as their own family members.
en it seemed as if an evil spell struck us. I remember it was on the
happy day of the marriage engagement of Swetha (daughter of Ramesh) at
Siddhaganj in Vishnu Township wherein I stayed. Kalyan Chaitanya from
Hyderabad, was also with me that day. As my health also was not up to the
mark, Kalyan had been staying with me as a helping hand for a few days.
We had been up the previous night working for the arrangements, for
decoration etc., and in the morning just a few hours before the engagement
event, we received a call that Datt had incurred a severe heart attack and
was being taken to hospital. Feeling distressed at the news, I went inside
my room and sat in front of ‘Amma,’ the presiding deity Maha
Tripurasundari of Siddhaganj. I took a coconut and with a prayer to save
his life, I broke the coconut in front of ‘Amma.’ Kalyan Chaitanya was
standing nearby watching me. In a few minutes, I began to feel severe chest
pain and fell to the oor unconscious. My body was shivering and had
turned blackish, from lack of breath. In few minutes the pain reduced, and
I was able to sit up. I told Kalyan and Sujatha that this heart problem was
just one more added to the pool of borrowed, thrust, sent, and in icted
diseases in me. (Many times I have ventured shouldering such things from
emotion, but lately, almost all the bene tting recipients have turned hostile
to me) I asked Sujatha to call Madhavi and check on Datt. To their wonder,
Datt had regained consciousness and was now out of danger. With
shivering body and dry throat and feeling extreme weakness, I sat in my
chair and watched the engagement ceremony of Swetha with Ravikanth
(son of one acquaintance-turned relative, Nageswar Rao). Once the
function ended at around 11 am, without caring even for some breakfast or
lunch, I rushed to the hospital with Sujatha. Seeing my pale face and
staggering steps, my driver Basha told me, “Guruji, you must rest for some
time. We will inform you of Datt’s health.” But due to the sense of kinship, I
was not satis ed. Reached the hospital, I met the concerned doctor with
Ratnamaiah (Sujatha’s father) to discuss on Datt’s problem. An angiogram
was decided upon, and aer a few treatments he was discharged from the
hospital aer a week or so. e entire hospital expenses were met by
Ramesh. I told Ramesh that I felt a moral responsibility to that couple since
I had brought them over from Kovvur to Kurnool, so we should do the
utmost we could. He did so, considering it guru seva unto me. He even
paid Datt’s salary, rent etc. during the off-duty days at his automobile office.
But aer regaining his health, and contrary to our and particularly my
expectations, I observed in the couple a considerable change in attitude.
ey were now well-established in panchadasi saadhana , and Madhavi
had been continuing it. Sometimes especially when misfortune knocks at
the door, people tend to think it seems, with two heads. e original one
they keep aside, and think with the borrowed one, which always creates
problems for them and anyone involved or dealing with them. So, it
becomes a source of miseries and the same thing happened here as well.
Datt re-joined duty aer one or two months, but was not regular, sincere or
even interested in doing the job as before. Initially we thought it may be
due to the impact of the medications and so made accommodations for it.
But as days passed, we realized that it was not as we had presumed. It was
due to ‘sense of inevitableness’ that had crept into them. One day Datt
came to the office and told Ramesh that he would work only if the
remuneration was increased. He seemed to be in a ‘shouting mood’.
Ramesh called me immediately and asked what he should do. I told
Ramesh to give him a warm send-off, and let him not suffer doing the job
there anymore.
ey spoiled the relationship, just for a few pennies. Datt le the job, and
has never shown his face to me till now.
I look at the mirror now, and it seems to speak to me saying -”Oh! Here
he comes again, it’s the face of that depressed guy who oen comes to meet
me aer someone teaches him a lesson in thanklessness. And now he is
going to decorate himself in front of me, to get ready for the next lesson.”
e mirror asked me to laugh once so I recharge and bring back the color
to my face. I tried and failed. I am not able to laugh. e laughs have
become the ‘copy and paste’ kind. I copy others’ laughs and paste it on my
face.
So if anyone wants to see me laugh, they have to be happy and laugh rst,
so I can copy-paste it on my face. But to be truly happy and be able to
laugh that genuine laugh, you must rst serve my brothers and sisters.
Nowadays, it is your smile that you will see me wearing on my face. So tell
me now, don’t you want to be happy?
 Forget It—It Is Your Mistake

I    from dysfunction of the le ventricle of my heart

for two years, and because of improper blood circulation also developed the
burning feet syndrome. My doctors wondered how I was even alive! But it
is not me who is living, it is my Guruji Avadhoota Tara Mayee who lives
within me, and as me. So I have no fear of death. My Guruji never dies and
as she is within me, I too am immortal. But my prolonged illness created a
lot of heartache for my disciples. ey prayed to Amma again and again for
my health. ey did poojas , paats , havans , even daanams for my well-
being. But the sufferings were only mine, inevitable for this existence.
When the sufferings will be over, this body will also pack off this mortal
coil.
A trust was formed by my disciples to do some seva for the disadvantaged
section of society. By my impulse, the trust received a piece of land as
donation to construct a building to house the activities, and a good amount
to commence the work. Since the funds at hand were insufficient for a
permanent building, it was decided to put up a thatched shed to launch the
seva activities. Ugadi (the new year of Telugu people) was near. Two
experienced and well-disciplined people joined as organizing secretaries of
Ashraya trust and Abhaya Varada 14 . As they had been in the eld of social
service activities for a long time, they were assets to our team. We all
planned for a unique kind of seva . Bhaktas doing walking pilgrimages are
oen provided with food, water and medicines by many service-minded
organizations along the routes, but we thought of doing something
different. We planned on offering medicated oil massages to the tired legs
of Shiva bhaktas walking for weeks, so that their legs could be refreshed to
walk out the remaining distance without any distress. I prepared about
thirty liters of an Ayurvedic oil, the technique of which I had learned in
childhood from one of my uncles, an Ayurveda vaidya . In addition to the
snacks, tea, water and fruit, this was going to be an altogether different
kind of seva . One of my disciples donated twenty thousand oranges, the
rst harvest from his orchard. A truck full of bananas, one lakh biscuits etc.
were arranged to be given along with the massage as well as a few
allopathic and homeopathic medicines. Some doctors too made themselves
available, ready to do seva .
A vacant piece of land by the road side was selected to pitch the tents,
and the enthusiastic land-owner made available a borewell within one day
to meet the water needed for the use. Students from the local engineering
college (young men and women) co-operated whole-heartedly for the seva
programme. One of the organizing secretaries who had joined recently was
given charge of the entire administration. us the stage was set. It was a
wonderful and unique event talked about in town, and much appreciated.
e bhaktas were in tears as this was their rst experience during their long
walking for weeks. On average 4000 bhaktas got the bene ts daily from the
camp of ve days.
Even though I had not been keeping well because of heart ailment and
burning legs, for ve days and 24 hours and along with about a hundred
sevaks , I stayed at the camp itself risking my deteriorating health day by
day. On the fourth day of the camp I was faced with another problem. It
was an incident of food poisoning. I had accepted and eaten in good faith
some laddus offered to me by someone with malicious intentions. e
resultant diarrhea and weakness unnerved me.
One of the trustees came to tell me that there was criticism around that I
was impulsively spending too much money. Of course, I do have the bad
habit of insisting some work I think needs to be done today, to be done
today itself. I hate keeping work pending. For this bad habit it happens that
we have to pay extra money.
is blame upon me for “impulsive spending” was an unexpected blow.
On the sheer merit of ‘begging’ from my obedient and large-hearted
devotees for donations I had arranged for the sufficient twigs needed to do
this yagna . So I thought that I was eligible to pay off without bargaining for
the works to be done at the right time. One of my disciples said openly,
“Guruji, if I were in your position, I would have paid only 3/4th of the
amount you paid now.” I replied, “Yes, you may have done that, but the
work too have been done only aer a week or so. I wanted the work to be
done now and here, so I paid a little extra.”
e talks in the air were disturbing my composure, so I decided to
withdraw myself from the seva activities, citing health reasons for needing
rest and solitude. I never involved myself in the trust’s seva activities
thereaer.
Preparations for my birthday celebration would soon be starting. e
Hindi version of my autobiography (Niyathi ki Chitha) was also getting
ready for printing and was in the press at Hyderabad. Staying at the home
of one of my disciples there, who was also general secretary of the trust,
somehow in spite of the suffering from physical pain and burning, and as
well as mental stress, I completed the nal proofreading and put print
orders, with the intention to release the book at the birthday event.
One of my disciples, owner of a farmhouse at a distance of about 40 km
from Kurnool, who had donated the oranges during the seva program,
invited me to host the program at the farm, assuring me that he and his
family would take care of the details. Aer discussing with a few of my
closest disciples, I agreed to this. Many dignitaries of repute were invited as
well as the nearby villagers. A full- edged medical camp was planned for
the bene t of the people of the nearby village.
My disciples spent the lion’s share of expenses for the program, and the
expenses for the book-release function were met by Abhaya Varada. With
the backdrop of the beautiful countryside, we danced joyfully to the
musical tune of the famous bhajan “mallayya . . . mallayya.. ”, ode to Lord
Mallikarjuna of Srisaila. Even though the program went well meeting the
expectations of my disciples, the last phase of the event did not. e
sponsor who had willingly shouldered the program now displayed
unexpected and indifferent behavior, causing irritation. Contrary to the
etiquette of a host, the near and dears of the host hurried to have their
lunch even before the invited guests were served, or even before my
bhiksha . ey started boasting about having dined rst. Adding fuel to the
re, they showed insensitivity in neglecting to arrange a vehicle for the
timely return journey of the esteemed guests and doctors to Kurnool. I
became concerned about facing the problem of the return journey from this
far-off place of invitees, among them women, children and elders. By that
time most of them, sensing the carelessness of the organizers, and not
wanting to hurt me, decided to walk for a kilometer or so in scorching heat
to catch a local bus to Kurnool from the main road. I reprimanded the
hosts at the end of the program for this callous indifference and told them
‘not to show their faces again’ in the future and returned to my room
exhausted and dejected.
e incident hurt me very deeply. In a pensive mood, I simply threw
myself down in my room. My legs were aching a lot and my blood pressure
shot up. I felt like I was in a tornado, feeling as if my head would burst.
Astonishingly from the darkness I had a vision of my Guruji and felt some
ease, till ‘Amma’ scolded me for permitting them to host such an event,
which had only given me more stress and pain.
Yes, I had miscalculated. I should not have taken it for granted that they
could organize such a program, which even went off well despite the
difficulties to the disciples from soer lifestyles. But as always, the fault was
mine alone. I told myself, “Forget it. It is your mistake but the janma din
event and book release are now in the past, leaving a negative experience
though. is may have happened because of my in ated ‘ego’ too, or trying
to project myself as someone special.”

14 Ashraya Trust and Abhaya Varada are charitable organizations run by the disciples of Avadhoota
Nadananda.
 Pouring Milk Onto A Neem Tree

C
   think of irrigating a neem tree with milk? Is it
not a futile exercise? We may disagree until our destiny turns some
people to be hostile towards us. By nature the neem tree is bitter,
through and through, from root to enticing fruit. Sometimes out of
idiosyncrasy, one aunts the strongest conventional wisdom advising
against it. ough it is not a forbidden action, it seems almost as if we are
driven by destiny to do so. When the sense of dispassion gets polluted, our
intellect by default leads to irrigate that neem tree, and that too with life-
sustaining milk. e faculty of thinking before rushing to act sometimes
fails, and then we repent at leisure for our actions, and sometimes lifelong
too.
e proverb of the cat stealthily drinking milk with eyes closed under the
impression that nobody will see or know, comes to mind. Some people,
keep their eyes intentionally closed, and venture to act like that cat—from
the height of recklessness of ego-centered actions, powered by intoxication
of material pleasure. And seeing themselves in a pool of miseries are then
reminded of the past temptation and indulge in them. ey are then given
to lament: “Oh! I could have opened my eyes before doing such karmas.”
And even if a saint, however well-versed in his trade of knowledge, makes
the mistake of blessing every person he stumbles upon, or takes for granted
that the person is deserving, then he too is bound to pay a price for helping,
gracing, blessing, or inspiring such a one at risk that may cost him his life.
But this realization dawned upon me, when I had already burnt not just
nger but my whole hand.
By sheer coincidence, true to heavens, I was introduced to one ‘purohit ’
or priest during my stay in Kovvur. I was extremely busy with work as the
rst set of my books were in press, with proof reading, editing etc. e
priest was well-educated and probably a graduate. He was not a master
though where rituals etc. were concerned. He used to visit me daily
evening, doing seva to me by pressing my tired legs etc. Economically he
was weak, and had some intentions to learn more about performing rituals
so he could earn more. I started teaching him the rituals especially ‘prayoga
vidhi ’ (practical part), and certain mantras for daily use. His repertoire of
skills grew and he recorded most of my teachings on Srichakra navavarana
pooja , and the rahasya (secret) pooja related to Shakti saadhana . He was
initiated by me in Srividya too.
Time passed and he le the village to settle in Hyderabad, in search of
better opportunities for his priest profession. I introduced my disciples in
the city to him too. He had now a network among the city people and
started earning well with his group of priests, and settled in the city. ose
city disciples of mine also started monthly satsang on spiritual values, and I
used to visit the city as a monthly routine. During that time the
construction work of the room for my stay in Kurnool was almost ending.
e disciple who had done the favour of constructing a separate building
for my stay wanted to convene a housewarming ceremony on the same day.
e purohit who I had helped to develop his vrittis was called to conduct
the vaasthu pooja , chandi homam , etc. e purohit came with his ‘gang’
and performed the rituals that I had prescribed. At the end of the day, aer
all rituals and lunch were over, he came to me to settle the dakshina for the
priests. I was shocked beyond belief when he demanded y thousand
rupees, just for the vaasthu pooja and chandi homam alone. Yet I told my
disciple who had constructed and convened the programme, “As you have
spent a good amount for constructing these two buildings, pay him the
amount he demands. Also, just think of this as an offering to a Brahmin .”
He paid the demanded amount. In that town, the maximum dakshina for
such ceremonies would only have been around een thousand. I had
invited this purohit only because he was my disciple of mine, thinking that
he would do the rituals with sincerity and devotion. Never did I dream that
he would demand such a huge payment for a house-warming ceremony. I
felt some guilt at this, as because of me the other disciple had to spend such
a large amount. But money was not the issue, it was the way the purohit
(who was my disciple) presented the bill to me. I said nothing, but a sense
of disappointment in mind erupted because of this matter. A few of my
disciples in Hyderabad told him that what he had done was not righteous.
By this time the same purohit was now facing some cardiac problems. He
called me one day and requested my blessings for the open heart surgery
that he was supposed to undergo. Just a couple of days before his surgery
he tied and wore a raksha kavacham and transferred his clotting in aorta to
me. e surgery was without complications and he was discharged from
hospital. In the meantime he was getting ready to be married. Without
even a second thought I travelled to Vijayawada with a few of my disciples
to attend his marriage. A couple of my disciples, who are well versed in
panchangam read his horoscope and told me that he did not have putra
yogam (childless due to destiny). I challenged them and in due course,
with a lot of prayers, he was blessed with a child. But his ‘ego’ was going up.
Even though I had taught him the higher steps of rituals in Srividya and
certain techniques in Shakti saadhana and the practical way of doing it,
which is the asset of Nambudiri Brahmins of Kerala, he was never thankful
or krutagna (ungrateful) to me, his guru. Krutaghnata (ingratitude)
towards anybody will de nitely pay back in a negative way. e same thing
happened here as well. He paid a lot for his behavior towards his guru.
Even though, I, the poor guru was backing him for his return to normal
life, since he had lost a good number of his ‘customers’.
Never give milk to a neem tree—while the milk will only become bitter
like the neem, the neem will never gain the sweetness of the milk. One just
cannot change the law of nature.
I had mistakenly poured the milk of my knowledge onto a neem tree. If
he charged me the way he did, I wonder what he may be doing with
others.
 Put Small Fish, Catch Big One

I
   become quite natural to human beings, to feel no guilt in
giving just a little, yet in taking as much as possible. People have
become masters in being cunning. ey have lost the precious element
of innocence, which exists from the grace of God. Acting with duplicity,
they manipulate and use others even for the pettiest sel sh motives, but in
very polished diplomatic ways. Once their sel sh interests are met, they will
never care to look back at their prey again, and move on to greener
pastures in search of the next prey.
On my return to Kurnool from Gyanganj, I was trying to nd someone to
sponsor the publication and distribution of ‘e science and essence of
Srividya’ which had received the blessings and approval of the higher
powers in Gyanganj. As the book was rather voluminous, more than 500
typed pages long, it appeared that it was going to very difficult to nd a
sponsor with the estimated printing charges of around ve lakh or more
rupees. Neither I nor the disciple with whom I was sheltered could either
arrange such a huge amount. During those days, I was con ned to my
room without meeting many devotees or disciples, concentrating only on
my saadhana .
One day a seemingly-rich business magnate who was well-known locally,
was introduced to me by one of my disciples. He was clad in white and
wearing the external symbols of vibhooti and kumkum tilak which gave the
appearance of a serious devotee. In our discussions I told him about the
pending printing work of the book. He took the manuscript from me,
saying that he wanted to borrow it just for reading. But to my wonder, only
aer one week the rst proof of the book was in my hands. at devotee
had decided to publish the book, and the printing work started to progress
right away. On the day of Vijaya Dashami during my pooja, I received the
rst copy of my book. ere was no limit to my happiness. e same person
spent some more money and arranged a grand function to release the
book. A convention on Sri Vidya was arranged too, and well-known
dignitaries, scholars, and practitioners in the eld of Sri Vidya were invited.
Devotees and disciples assembled in large numbers, and the book-release
program was accomplished well beyond my expectations. I felt as if I were
on the top of Mt.Everest.
Months passed, and I had thoughts of bringing all the disciples together
into an organized group, so that they could be channeled, encouraged, and
inspired in doing constructive, and society-oriented activities. In modern
terms a platform was needed to achieve this in the form of a trust. One day
I sat with a small group of disciples to discuss and nalize the creation, and
the modes and methods of registering a trust. e wealthy devotee who
had published my book (by this time he had been initiated and become my
full- edged and very close disciple and meeting me almost daily with
family) was also present at that meeting. All of a sudden he started saying,
“Guruji, aapki na beebi, na koi baccha, na bangla, na bank balance. Trust
khadaa karke aap kahin chale jayenge, samasya poori hamaare sar par
padegi .” (Guruji, you have no wife, children, home or bank balance. You
can easily set up the trust and leave, then we will be stuck with dealing
with all the associated problems.) When I heard these discouraging words,
I felt really sad and hurt, and ashamed at convening such a meeting.
Another disciple, who happened to be very close to me, also supported him
in this. So at the very outset the idea of forming a trust was aborted and
kept in cold storage. But the sound of his words kept echoing in my ears.
I was in a nearby town to attend the funeral of the mother of one my
disciples when I received a telephone call from the same wealthy person
who had helped publish my book, requesting me to recommend the loan of
a big amount from one of my disciples in that town who was a money-
lender. Due to lack of judgment stemming from inexperience in worldly or
vyavaharic matters, I innocently encouraged the granting of the loan. Not
just that once, but several times did he take loans from him, using my
name. I was unaware of this. Aer a year or two, the person who had lent
the money came to me with the complaint that the other not yet returned a
single paisa from his loan, even the interest. I was shocked to learn from
another disciple that the person for whom I recommended the loan, who
had talked to me roughly in the meeting in cruel and undesirable language,
had now failed in his business and was in debt to the tune of crores of
rupees. He had already become bankrupt.
I thought it my moral responsibility to make arrangements to return the
amount of the loan to be repaid to my other disciple, who was also badly in
need of money at that time. I requested a third disciple to make
arrangements to pay off the amount to the person who had made the loan
to the rst disciple. Taking it as guru aagya or orders of the guru, that
disciple sold off a few acres of his land and settled the account. Now the
original borrower has to pay a good amount to the new person in the
picture. But the condition of the borrower has gone to hell; he lost his
bungalow, bank balance, etc. and it was difficult for him to meet both ends.
e words he had used in insulting Guruji were now being repaid to him in
the same coin. But the huge amount yet to be paid to my disciple has
become a big burden in my mind. As the moral responsibility pinches me
always, I think it is I who owes that amount to be returned. I as a guru,
unaware of the pros and cons of dealings in money matters, am now in
pain mentally, and feel disturbed always.
A few are like this: they show some coins to a prostitute to make use for
their pleasure. Likewise they try to turn their guru into a prostitute as well.
 The Return Journey

I    of footsteps outside the room. It was dark. I lay on my
bed as if I had been thrown there, unable to get up, my body throbbing in
pain. I was immobile and in a state of total collapse due to a severe cardiac
arrest. I witnessed the separateness of the body and myself for a moment,
and then the consciousness joined again with the body. is was the
moment of struggle between the body and the soul, the stage in between,
when the feeble thread of breath links life and death. I had lost all
sensation except that of sound. ere was the same sound of those
footsteps again, but slower. An unambiguous feeling of the presence of
someone at the doorstep. But other than me, none else present there
appeared to have any knowledge of that. “Who is over there?” I asked. But
no reply came in return, and there was again the same sound in that
strange silence. I felt strongly that somebody was trying to enter the room
and that something or somebody was preventing him from reaching me.
My eagerness to welcome and talk to him kept growing. Suddenly that code
broke: it came to my mind that perhaps it was ‘He’. Because such struggles
could take only place when ‘He’ comes to ‘Meet’ us. Such struggle between
body and soul take place in their ght to prevail. And the signs of
preparation for my nal departure were already starting to manifest in the
form of cardiac arrest and excruciating pain in the body.
A few of the disciples present around my bed looked on helplessly, their
hearts aching at being unable to do anything to reduce my suffering. But
they did not know that when the orders are delivered from up high, no one
under the sky has any say. It was dawning on a few that their Guruji was
preparing to leave his body. It looked to me too that the end of a long
journey was near. Amidst an invincible pain, they saw me talking busily
with someone, and I saw tears in their eyes. I remember, it was around
Karthik Poornima , one of the year’s happiest occasions, similar to Deepavali
. I presumed the time was near and was resolved to see that last moment of
leaving this world, unexpected but the inevitable moment of departure.
e feeling of someone moving between rooms, here and there restlessly,
continued. Now at the third time of the same sound of footsteps, I asked
again, “Who goes there?” Now one of my disciples asked me, “Guruji, to
whom are you speaking?” I murmured, “A friend of mine, waiting for me
outside.” ey went out and looked around, but there was nobody.
Someone said, “Guruji, nobody is there. May be an illusion?” But I was not
hallucinating at all. e efficacy of my consciousness level was intact with
all of its parameters. Since long, I had been counting on this friend’s arrival
to take me with him, even from day one of this life. He had been there
with me always, walking along by my side, through the whole journey of
this eventful life, but never displayed any interest in taking me with him to
his abode, preferring to leave me here to suffer when he had many more
legal chances to do so. He was the accountant witness of my every moment,
other than my beloved Guruji and the Almighty Himself, in every pain and
pleasure, in peace and tempest, and now I could feel his presence just at
the door steps. ere was total silence everywhere. I was on the bed,
counting down the moments to the arrival of that friend, with whom I
must now carry out the rest of the journey, the nal leg. e unavoidable
part, which everybody is destined to do. e journey to the other world,
the last journey with my friend, Death.
For the last few months I had been con ned to the bed, my movements
restricted to minimum, and suffering the pains of repeated cardiac
episodes. Breathing was difficult, and an oxygen mask was on my face. e
other emotional masks efficiently decorated by my own people, had already
been removed as I did not want to take them along. Four doctors, all
dedicated disciples with life-saving medicines at their disposal, and scores
of friends and disciples with moist eyes surrounded my bed. I was at
Vishnu Township, Kurnool, in my hospitalized room. ose days the room
had become like a full- edged ICU, created by my disciples to save my life,
or to extend my suffering. People from all walks of life came to me to see
me at my last moments, the unavoidable sunset. From north and south,
east and west, did my devotees and disciples come to visit. Even with all the
pain, I was calm and composed, yet one could see a few drops of tears in
my eyes. e Kurnool disciples arranged daily suvasini pooja and kanya
pooja , by offering clothes, fruits etc. to the visiting devotees. I was not
sleeping at all, and my cognition was intact when I saw a few saintly
persons in kaashaya enter the room. eir appearance was unusual. ey
were well-built in body, and effulgent in spite of old age, with golden-
coloured beards and matted hair. Clad in kaashaya or ocher robes, with
kamandal or water-pot in hand, they looked like the Maharshis of yore,
come here for us to hear about the Vedic scriptures. eir presence started
working in me, lling me with an unknown devotion and exhilaration. To
express my reverence, I tried to get up physically but it was not possible
because already a lack of identity with the body had developed. I did not
like to take the help of the body any more again. I could see that I had
folded my astral hands again and again to them, as I was doing pranaams
and submissions even though I was unable to recognize them. eir saintly
look and presence compelled me to bow and prostrate, their being near my
bed gave me a few pain-free moments. ey smiled and one of them, very
old, with white beard and matted hair touched my forehead. Just then, I
felt a cooling-down in and around me and a deep serene silence pervaded
within. Soon I was limping back to my dense worldly consciousness. e
pain was started to recede.
One of my friends, a well-known doctor and professor at the medical
college came to visit and touching my body with his palms, started reciting
the mruthyunjaya mantra . Just for a minute or so, I entered into a state of
oblivion. I could see the presence of my Friend, of course everybody’s
friend, just near me. He touched my body, and I could see that I was out of
my body. I heard the sounds of crying people over there, but here my
journey had started. As I was not allowed to look back at my body, I just
moved out of the room along with the friend. I started travelling through
clouds colors, red, yellow, orange, and at last entered a vast area of deep
violet color, where I could see only light predominantly in shades of blue or
violet. He, the friend Death was not with me and I too was not there. No
body, no mind, no intellect, no question of thought, only the ‘I,’ the
existence was there. Ego lost and merged in colors, a sound of silence, then
a pure light of golden yellow appeared. How long I was like this, I do not
know. en again I was not knowing. ere was no time factor. Only a
calm, cool, and colourful experience of ‘Self ’.
All of a sudden came a faint experience of loneliness. at was all—I had
opened my eyes, or rather the eyes had opened themselves. I found to my
dismay that I was on my bed, pain in my body. e disciples around were
still grief-ridden and immersed in tears. I could see my Friend turning back
and leaving the room. I felt like sitting up and with the help of some of the
disciples, I sat leaning back on the pillows behind me. One among them
asked, “What happened, Guruji? You have been unconscious for a long
time. We were all worried.” Even though my voice was very feeble, I was
awake and murmured, “No, I was not unconscious, but aware of
everything all the while about my being. I just travelled with my friend far,
far from here to experience the ‘SELF,’ but I was here only.” I had to say
something to pacify them, because the situation from which I came back
could not be explained at that time. I was so overcome from lack of energy
and emotional freedom that any explanation was out of bounds for me.
Nobody understood what happened, but the experience was full and nal
to me. I had gone there where everybody has to go one day, into the
unexplored landscape of reality, the lap of ‘the ultimate reality,’ and was
now back in the body. ere might have been some dues, yet to be paid,
and works to accomplish, or some more pains to be experienced, a balance
of some kind in my account, that I was destined or allowed to return.
 Three Stories To Remember

O
   evening, I was strolling through a village road
which leads to a small and very old temple. I oen preferred this
road for an evening walk, as its loneliness is like the path towards
the divine which also is trod by very few. ough I walked alone most days,
that day an old man from the same village joined me. He was returning
from town aer purchasing some medicines for his ailing wife. It was
nearing dusk. A calm prevailed, characteristic of any village at this time, for
activities come to a standstill then. ere were no villages within yonder
visibility and at far I could see the inviting gopuram of a temple. It was
dilapidated due to age and lack of maintenance, but had an elegant and
wonderful look because of its age-old style of construction and architecture.
e old man who had joined me on the way aer exchanging
pleasantries, started asking me a lot of incongruous questions which I was
not in the mood to answer for them, being just of trash value. But to him,
his own opinion was intelligent and legitimate. I too was not interested in
annoying him, a totally naïve person. So though I tried to divert him into
other matters, but he seemed stuck like a worn-out gramophone record of
olden days. When he noticed that I was uninterested in his questions, the
old man started making up or telling me a story, in his feeble, shivering
voice. I was forced to cut short my walk for the day, and we both sat under
a tree.
Putting on an imposing air to as prelude, he started his sermon by saying,
“ere was an old man, on his death bed, with nobody either to look aer
or be looked aer by, who was suffering a lot of the blessings of old age,
called pain of all sorts. He saw a few old people gathering around him, with
curiosity and expectation waiting to see the takeoff. e old man asked of
them in his feeble voice, “Are you not that childhood friend, who has come
here now to bid farewell to me?” One of them replied, “Yes, yes of course
we were together with you in boyhood and youth. But you never cared to
pay the least attention to us and abandoned us.” en the old man feebly
said with curiosity, “Who are you?” ey replied, “We . . . don’t you gather?
We are none other than your hopes and dreams that you never tried to
ful ll, the talents and gis which you never tried to use or tried to
develop!” e old man said, feeling scared, “en why are you here, to
curse me or bless me in this last moment?” “Neither,” they said, “We too are
just bemoaning our destiny that we should die here with you not attending
to our calls throughout life.”
“Did you get the point, baba?” the storyteller in front of me asked. I
nodded my head forcefully, conveying an option-less ‘yes’.
I thought the story was over, and observed a politically-correct silence.
We both remained in silence for some time. I was thinking these incidents
were common in everyone’s life, so why was this old man relating this
pregnant and tragic story to me. I was wondering, bemused and trying to
catch the intention behind it but failed. So I stood up to resume my walk.
But with a gesture, the old man asked me to sit and started telling another
story.
“Once in a forest a friendship developed between a dry clod of earth
which looked like a human face, (which can happen by chance sometimes)
and a dry leaf that had fallen from a tree. ey became very close friends.
Due to a drought, the face-like clod remained intact for many long years.
Once they decided to go to Kashi for pilgrimage. ey started walking
together from the place of their origin toward Kashi. ey walked many
miles sharing their stories and experiences. One day along the way, there
was a heavy downpour of rain, and the dry leaf draped itself over the clod
like an umbrella and saved it from dissolving in the rainwater. e clod was
moved at the act of friendship exhibited by the leaf. As they continued
their journey, there was another test of destiny in the form a wild wind.
e clod sat on the dry leaf to save it from being blown away by the wild
wind. e journey continued for many days and one day as they walked
together, the rain and wild wind came together. e wind blew away the
dry leaf far away from his friend, and the clod dissolved in the rainwater.”
 e old man narrating this story then took a break. I opted to go into
deep silence again. So there prevailed a silence between me and the villager
for a few moments. I was a bit confused as to why this unknown old
villager was narrating such stories to me. at odd main then said, “Babaji
bear with me for another small story.”
One small story! Now here again was a prelude with expectations. Now
my mindset was different, as I too was curious to hear the peasant’s next
story. He embarked on his narration—“An old man in a village felt much
pity at the plight of Mother Earth, as he was seeing her carrying a lot of
weight in the form of stones and rocks, which he thought was a big burden
on her. His unique sense of magnanimity and sense of duty prompted him
to do something to reduce this burden to the extent possible. He had an
idea when he saw a huge rock lying in front of his house, which had been
there for long. Overpowered by his love for Mother Earth, and with much
difficulty he hoisted it upon his head and stood in front of his house. He
stood all day this way and everyone including his family members were
amazed at the degree of his innocence, or idiocy so to say, but no one dared
say anything. It was almost the end of the day when sadhu came walking
through the small village road in front of his house and saw this unusual
scene. e sadhu went near the old man, who was tired and sweating with
the weight of the large stone on his head, and asked, “What is this? What
are you doing with the stone on your head?” e old villager replied, “is
is my humble service to Mother Earth in order to reduce her burden of
weight.” e sadhu smiled at his foolishness and said, “People like you are
the real weight to Mother Earth.”
e peasant had nished his stories, but I was clueless about the import
thereof. Without saying anything more, and even without a word of
farewell, the old villager just stood up and walked away, leaving me at the
crossroads. It was almost dark. I was standing still for some time, a bit
confused and racking my brains at the possible meaning and any
conceivable link among the three ceremonious stories. It appeared he
wanted to air some sarcasm.
Whatever it was, I was not able to take my mind off his words. I returned
to my room thinking on the possible purport, his intention, wish or any
moral of the story and lay down at for hours in a thoughtless state of
mind waiting for my mind or intellect to tell me the real meaning of those
stories. Here I was le in the wilderness for showing a little affection to that
old man out of compassion and respect for his right to equality.
So, a sadhak always should be careful in hearing stories which may be
ambiguous in meaning, a dangerous situation. Doubt doubtlessly destroys.
One who becomes a victim to doubt cannot hope to enjoy either this world
or the next. Random discussions with any raw intellect harboring its own
preconceived concepts, or ideas should be avoided at all costs. ereby we
can lose the saadhana of a whole lifetime. So says the lord—‘samsayatma
vinashyati ’ or the doubting soul is ruined. Do not do that with spirituality,
for it is a great sin.
 An Emotional Sunset

I    the shed across the street from my room at Vishnu
Township in Kurnool. It had just stopped raining a few minutes before. e
small bushes seem to be smiling and in a very happy mood, as if saying a
thanksgiving prayer to the Almighty for the rejuvenating shower upon
them. A stray dog passed on the road barking again and again for a reason
unknown. Somewhere at a distance a crow cawed. It may have been
returning to its nest, as the day was ending. A child’s laughing sound came
from the neighbor’s house. In spite of that, a deep and serene silence
prevailed. A refreshing cool wind carrying the soul-elevating aromatic smell
of wet soil breezed upon me for a moment. And just as it had come, the
wind le, leaving me engulfed in a strange loneliness. I felt as if there was
someone around trying to talk to me, and convey to me some reality of life.
As my being searched for that entity who was bearing that agony of life in
its heart, my eyes fell on a owering plant there. A few drops of water that
had been on one of the leaves fell down. I could feel the loss of the leaf,
from when the drop of water had been in its bosom. My eyes then sat upon
a yellow ower lying on the ground which had been an object of adoration,
enhancing the beauty and value of its mother plant. I too had much loved
and enjoyed it till yesterday, but alas today, it had fallen down with nobody
there to value it anymore. “No one loves a fallen ower,” they say. It was
waiting for the sweeper to dispose of it.
Who says you can’t learn anything from a plant, thus came the ash. It
was that fallen ower, yesterday’s hero of the plant community who was
disturbing my whole being for a while. As has always been the case with
me, I have loved even the fallen ower. But the fallen ower was asking am
I the same as the ower attached to the plant? As the way of life goes, the
sweeper came by, and that tiny beautiful yellow fellow bade me a happy
goodbye. I, with wet eyes and heavy heart got up, but only to see the west
where the sun was now setting, sinking like a hot red ball. And reminding,
yes, that there is not much time for this sun to set too. e darkness is
nearing us but not everywhere, because somewhere else it is morning, and
the sun is going to rise there. Darkness is just a cover over the shining sun.
e sunset of nature, the sunset of a guru is the same too. Does the guru’s
sunset attached to any time limit? No, he travels constantly to keep the
world always in ‘daylight’. Except that we are unable to travel at the speed of
the guru-sun. So if we always would like to remain in ‘daylight’, we must
make guru take us to his bosom. For a child cannot walk at its father’s or
mother’s pace, that is what the Shukla Yajurveda says. But nobody is ready
to take shelter in the guru’s bosom or heart. It is only with that in mind that
the scriptures say that the gurus are avinashis , the never-setting suns, and
ever-travelling suns. ey never die since they were never born. A guru’s
life is a never-ending journey between birth and birth, day and night,
among places yet not in them. So for them there is no question of a
beginning or ending. e guru manifests at the time of our ‘days’ (saadhana
) or beginning of the universe. e guru never remains unmanifest. It may
be that the eyes of sishyas or disciples are ‘closed’ (bound to a particular
place in nature) so they see only darkness, and not the light of the ever-
shining guru, the ever-travelling sun. Whenever they ‘open’ their eyes, they
see their guru in and around them. I was with closed eyes for more than 25
years. When I opened my eyes at Mookambika, I saw that sun, the light,
my Guruji near me, in me rather. Even now Amma is near, dear and in me.
In and around me.
In the long journey of my life till now, I have faced and passed through a
lot of experiences—bitter, sour and sweet. ough the avours are never a
reality, when I look back now I realize that they were all inevitable. It was
only those experiences that turned me into a sanyasi , an avadhoota, and a
guru , making me useful to others, and to the coming generations.
But the sun was about to set. e sun, tired from the long journey of
dawn to dusk, needed to disappear from the sky for a bit only to return for
another journey starting next dawn. My own journey has been much the
same. Every day I died, and every day I am re-born. Every day I am
travelling from dawn to dusk full of ever-new experiences. Yes, but now I
feel the need for rest too. e eternal rest of the ‘sun’ happens only at the
time of dissolution, or pralaya . And if at all there is a new beginning aer
pralaya , the ‘sun’ will come back with renewed vigour.
e room, which I stay at Vishnu Township has been designed according
to Vedic Vaasthushasthra . In the middle of the room, a pit has been dug to
place this body aer my samaadhi . e entire piece of earth measuring
21’×21’×18’ has been activated through mantras . A parikrama marg or
circumambulation path has been made around it, and a small but beautiful
garden in front of the room. As I am very fond of trees and bushes, the
front side of the room is lled with small plants, some of them owering,
and some crotons etc. I can very well visualize the moments of my
samaadhi: how they will remove the slab above the pit, how they will place
the body, and how they will do the rst aarathi to the samaadhi .
As has been true eternally, time heals every wound, but the scar remains.
Sometimes when you see the scar, you remember the wound and the
memories of pain are green again. All these are just repetitions of the last
birth so to say. It seems as if it all happened only now. But the best part of
life is that we have forgotten the previous janma or birth, and are
conditioned to think only of this one, and never try to visualize the next
birth. In the life of an avadhoota , he can, at his will, remember yesterday,
today and tomorrow, if he wants to. Or he may completely ignore those
happenings of yesterday, today and tomorrow. at is the reason he can be
calm and composed, and that is why he is in bliss always. It is the stage of
being kaalaateetha (beyond time and space).
So you all see there! It is becoming dark now. e night of yours is almost
ready to arrive, and my journey to yonder is about to start, everything over!
e dark blanket is spread on the body of mother earth. I look around and
see the watchman appear to turn on the light. Of course he may turn on
the external light. I asked him not to switch on the man-made light now.
Let me be in darkness for some more time. It is an irony that the human
with all his mighty science has so far been unable to create a man-made
darkness, which is equally pristine like the light.
e light of the sun is not visible to others now. Only a few stars have
appeared in the sky. A deep and transcending silence pervades around me
with a mesmerizing song loaded in it. I should enjoy the song of that
silence, sitting here, just alone in that divine darkness. e darkness is only
seemingly external. Inside, the light of existence is burning with all its glory.
It never blinks. It never bursts. It is, it was, and it will be, here forever.
 Butterfly—A Messenger

I
   raining all night long and the courtyard lled with muddy
water. I was sitting in my room, the dawn yet to come. e heavy rain
slowed to a drizzle and then it stopped. e sun was up now and the
rays of sunshine entering my room. A butter y with some yellowish spots
on a dark background was uttering here and there in the courtyard.
Because of the rain in the night, the owers on the bushes were scattered
around the courtyard. ey would have been the source of food for that
poor butter y, which was now in search of an alternate source of food, or at
least something to eat from the owers. I opened the door and let the
butter y enter in the room. It was drenched and it seemed as if it was
shivering from the cold. It moved around the room and slowly came near
to sit on my shoulder. I felt it as some special moment, as if the butter y
was giving me some message.
On several occasions butter ies have come to me, and in different colors
and designs. ey come to my room and move around, and may sit on my
shoulder, or head, or hands, or ears, and then move away aer few
minutes, and vanish. To my surprise I would see its dead body lying next
day in my room, sometimes eaten by red ants.
I was in my Jammu ashram in those days, and working on drawings
based on the Lalitha Sahasranama stotra , the hymn of the thousand
names of the Goddess Lalitha. Every name in the Lalitha sahasranama has
a beeja mantra hidden in it, and every beeja has its own yantra , (a
geometrical diagram, in color). It took almost three years to complete the
entire drawing work. Drawing each yantra on a wooden plank, I would do
japa of the related beeja mantra, for a long time daily till I got the result.
 I did not carry any money with me in those days, and I never had the
habit of asking for money from anybody either. When Madan Lal saw me
do the drawing with a pencil and keep it aside, he brought me a set of
sketch-pens, a geometry-box, a few pencils and an eraser. Paramanandji
had some drawing paper with him which he offered me. He had worked as
a drasman in the military, and enthusiastically helped me transfer the
notebook sketches to the drawing paper, spending a lot of his time. e
sketch-pen ink would dry up aer some usage. I hesitated in asking for ink
to re ll them, or for a new set of pens. One day I had a wonderful idea to
pour a few drops of water into the back side of the pens, and this worked to
extend their life for a few days. With those faded colors and borrowed
sheets, I somehow managed to do the drawings. In the nights I would do
japa or meditate on the beeja on which I want to nalize a drawing next
day. is work on the Lalitha sahasranama was a tapas of more than three
years and took so long to complete, as I used to travel a lot in between to
Samalkha or Indore or Omkareshwar or Srisailam.
I had also made plans to write interpretations of these yantras and beejas
based on the Lalitha Sahasranama , but they were not materializing. Aer
a few years though, during my stay in Kurnool in Andhra Pradesh, I was
able to do the vyakhya or commentary on the Lalitha Sahasranama , based
on Saubhagya Bhaskaram (Bhaskararaya‘s commentary), in the form of
daily satsangs, and later as lectures that were released as a CD titled
‘Srividya Vichar’, sponsored by Dr. Srinivasa Reddy of Kurnool, and well-
distributed among the Srividya sadhakas. But the language of lecture being
a mixture of Hindi and a little English, it was not properly understood or
used in South India.
I held on to those Lalitha Sahasranama drawings that I had done with
sheer love, passion and struggle even lacking decent equipment such as
color pen and pencils, or any such modern accessories or instruments. But
the making of those had given me an immense satisfaction. Due to the
absence of cooperative factors in turning them into a book format, I le
them in dormancy in my room in the Jammu Ashram on top of my book
rack, like a helpless mother might be forced to leave her newborn. I had to
leave for a long stay in Indore at my friend Baba’s ashram to continue my
research work on the vibrations of bindu . e paintings had almost slipped
from my memory when one winter, aer my return from Indore, I did
notice them while re-arranging books on the racks. e drawings had been
stored on top of the rack and alas, had been eaten by termites. I veri ed
each and every drawing sheet, but all of them had been damaged by the
termites, and were full of holes. ey now appeared like some modern art
creation of an absurd mind. I wept for hours on end that day at the sight,
and can even today remember the looks of sympathy on the faces of my
disciples. ey asked me to re-draw them, and were ready to bring fresh
paper and colors, but my heart was broken. In the way of a father putting
his only son on a funeral pyre for cremation, I burnt some of them with a
heavy heart and tears in my eyes. Paramanand kept two or three drawing
aside that had not been damaged much, and when I came to Kurnool I
brought them along with me. Again thoughts of redoing the same drawings
appeared in my mind, and Ramesh even brought a lot of drawing sheets
and sketch pens. ough I tried several times, it could not happen, as one
cannot bring back his or her dead child from a burning pyre. It was a heavy
loss not only to me, but to the Srividya sadhakas and to the lovers of the
Lalitha Sahasranama . In Kurnool, in my room in Brindavan Nagar, there
is an almirah full of cassettes and C.Ds. ey are audio and video
recordings of my lectures on Lalitha Sahasranama, Lalitha Trishathi,
Saundarya Lahari, Guru Gita etc (more than thousands of hours). ere
are also video recordings of the events of Guru Poornima, book releases,
lectures etc. I used to tell my disciples in Kurnool that those old cassettes
will meet the same fate as the drawings, by accumulating fungus which will
ruin the tapes. I am much older now and not in a position to give lectures
again on the same subjects, due to health conditions and faded memories.
Yesterday, a butter y appeared again. It was in the hall in Baba Brindavan
Nagar, where my stock of released books was stored, and where I sit to type
the next part of the autobiography. It uttered around the room, then sat
on the books, moving on to the typewriter, then ew away to a corner and
nally disappeared. But this time around it did not come to me, or sit on
my body, or deliver any message.
When I entered my room this morning and sat down to resume my
typing, I spotted the motionless body of the black butter y, with yellow
spots on its wings, lying on my writing table next to the typewriter. It
seemed to be delivering a last message—in silence. Tears owed from my
eyes for a few minutes and I thought I should give it a proper cremation. I
went into mauna or silence for a moment, sitting in my bedroom in
voidness without a single thought, but with a prayer to the Almighty to give
shanthi to that atma , who had been delivering messages for a long time,
and who delivered its last message through its ‘silence,’ through its death.
Yes, it will never come back to me again, never.
 The Hamsa Gaanam

M
   disturb the normal life of a
spiritually enlightened person. I had heard and understood this
as true of the great Ramana Maharishi too. His was so natural a
life that no one fully knows or realizes what a volcano of knowledge he
was. He never bothered to exhibit his powers, or aspired for any experience
of mystical traits. e common man’s idea and notion about and of a sadhu
is one who has some kind of magical power to produce, show, or manifest
things of unnatural kind to happen. ere are vested interests who have
planted many stories and uncorroborated experiences about sadhus ,
unveri able and irreproducible, to the extent that it has become very
difficult nowadays for a sadhak to carry out genuine saadhana .
As you progress in the path, you stumble upon so many such experiences
which are very enticing, and if by chance you entertain them, it will
become infectious.
When I nished writing the episode about my experience during one of
my purascharanas in the Jammu ashram, that experience in which I had
the darshan of my beloved Guru Devi, my mind had to virtually reach back
to that date in order to write it. In doing so, that same ecstasy was
reproduced afresh. Slipping backwards naturally meant that I would have
her darshan once more. e impression of that incident was so intense and
lingering, similar to the memory of the enjoyment of a good sweet, that it
had engraved itself so deep upon my heart. It refused to leave. It is exactly
in this way that human beings repeat incidents in their lives, engaging
themselves to re-enact those events of enjoyment. So the emotional rapture
of that experience got a second life just by me recalling it. I kept zooming
into that stage for a few days, even without my cognition, but I was busy
too with other activities as usual. In the meantime, for a few months I had
developed some interest in Radha, Krishna, Bhagavatam etc., due to
interactions with Abhayanand, who contrary to me was a Vishnu devotee. I
am by default, a devotee of Maa Shakti. So that year we organized a few
programs on Bhagavatam as well, all successful as far as my expectations
were concerned. I had already been zooming in the bliss of my guru’s
darshan , and I was now over-writing that area of my memory with the
new stories and newly acquired Krishna-related sanskaras , thoughts etc. It
produced a wonderful incident which I would like to share with you all
here in this episode.
I would not say it was at all a reproduction of the memory but a re-
manifestation of the previous experience. I was not just merely recalling
what I had, but re-enjoying and revisiting what I had previously
experienced, under a speci c state of mind and in speci c circumstances.
e reader should be clear about this in mind to be able to get the meaning
hidden. In our scriptures it is termed pratyabhingya (recognition), itself the
basis for self-realization. A vedantin considers pratyabhingya verily
realization itself.
One day as I mentioned, some days aer writing the episode ‘Beginning
itself is ending’, I was alone in the room in Vishnu Township. It was around
1.30 in the early hours of the night, a deep silence pervading everywhere. I
never forgot to turn off the tape-recorders etc. before going to bed,
especially since I was recovering from a debilitating illness. I was not
sleeping very well and wanted to make the conditions suitable and
available should any occasion for sleep arise. Otherwise I would have to
wait even for days together to see the face of this deity called sleep. ere
was no question of any music to play by itself at that odd time without my
knowledge. So sometimes I would keep tossing on the bed all night due to
non-advent of the deity called sleep, and it made me tired to the core in the
morning. But that day it was not like that—I felt utterly relaxed, fresh, and
agile in mind. I was not feeling the least necessity for sleep. I lay calmly on
the bed, with no urge to turn and toss from vexation. It was neither a state
of sleep, nor an awake state, nor a meditative state—I can claim to say that
I was absorbed totally in some unique ultra-empirical but joyous and
blissful state with full knowingness of things. Abruptly I heard the
enticingly melodious sound of a ute, waing gently from somewhere. It
was one of my favorite tunes on Krishna. Initially the experience was one of
hearing. en the hearing experience was gone—transitioning into one of
feeling. Aer a while the feeling transformed into a merging. I started
accompanying the ute with my humming of the same tune. Suddenly I
felt that I was losing cognition. I was forced into merging with something,
and had lost the capacity to identify or to recognize whether I was the song
or the ute. When I found myself dissolving into that unearthly state, I was
struggling to make an identity of myself. And when that instinct for
identity arose, I split myself into two halves: the one ‘I’ was intact and other
half of me became many. When I saw the other part I saw Krishna in his
full effulgence standing on a dais there. I exclaimed, “Krishna!” He
exclaimed, “Radhe!” We were both overpowered by our respective bhaavas
. is was a state of inexplicable bliss. e Radha bhaava in me started
intensifying more and more. Now I started comprehending the music,
situation etc. I was hearing and dancing with the divine song called hamsa
gaanam .
Yes, the hamsa gaanam , the song of the swan, the ultimate form of
existence, the song of the Self. e naadam , or never-subsiding
reverberation of the cosmic voice of ecstasy, the rhapsodic effortless sound
of everlasting cosmic ow. e self-clari catory sound of knowledge, a
heightened state of purity of heart, innocence par excellence of existence.
ey say it is painful to hear ‘it’, the sound of the ute of Krishna, a sweet
pain which only Radha along with her retinue of gopikas can experience.
e radha bhaava in me was experiencing it at that moment in the
panchama raaga , the ultimate one that has been vibrating within me from
the very beginning. I was singing within me the Krishna geetam , ‘Krishna
nee beganey baaro ’ (the famous devotional song, ‘come hither soon, O
Krishna’), the song of the sakhis or the gopikas . ey were dancing in me to
a rhythm, the rhythm of merging. It was the song of oneness, not of death
but of the dissolution of the ‘I’ within me. e sound of the ute of Krishna
merges in the rhythm of the steps of Radha. e song was divine and the
rhythm divine. e steps danced to the aadi taalam a nd then to the druta
taalam, then there was silence. And again there was the sound of the ute,
as if from an unknown distance, from the very depth of the inner self.
It was not going to end, that song divine echoed as a pulsation: that
divine pulsation empowered my existence. e bindu ( third eye chakra)
broke in me and I could easily see the Shiva and Shakti separating and
merging together in me as ardha nareeswara , and that a new raagam of
‘self ’ was emerging in me, the raagam of viraagam , the viraha raagam of
experiencing the ‘self ’ in search of the ‘Universal Self ’.
e swan, the hamsa , still singing. Every pulsation is a song in a new
raagam , a never before experienced symphony—the symphony of the
merging of Shiva in Shakti, and Shakti in Shiva, which is happening in me
every moment which is the sweet yet painful experience that everyone
awaits from birth, the nal sound of self, the sound of another beginning,
the ultimate song for the new dawn, the sound with a fragrance of my
awareness in ‘being,’ my merging in ‘me,’ and coming out from the cosmic
womb with a new fragrance of ‘self-awareness of being in ‘the self.’
Sounds like another mad day of an avadhoota, doesn’t it? No, ending of
the mad day of an ignorant fool from the clutches of the so called ordinary
behavior, and awakening into the intelligence of an avadhoota , merging
the intelligence in the self, in the cosmic self, the Shivatva, the ultimate
reality of cosmic awareness.
A deep silence, serene, calm and composed moments, for long time, yes,
the time factor vanished, no more space, a ‘poornatha ’ (fullness) lled
‘soonyatha ’ (emptiness). “Ekkada raa nee kettina medagulu, ekkada raa
nee moha bandhamulu” . . . a sound of song disturbed from distance. It
had the meaning of ‘where gone your palatial buildings, where gone your
attachments towards unreal things . . . ,’ is it telling me, is it telling you all,
is it not the real enquiry of ‘self,’- ‘where in the winds gone the false
identity, where in the water dissolved your desire for money and fame,
where in the skies merged your false sounds of external steps, where on
earth merged the fragrance you loved for long, where in the re you burnt
the desires of the birth to death, where in the self you merged yourself.
I started dancing to that tune of the song heard from far, sang by an
unknown villager came out with his cows to take them for feeding in
grounds. I looked around, ‘where am I,’ I found I am here where I was,
where I am, and where “I” is!!!
Just the new dawn is on my door steps. Another day, another beginning,
for another ending. Daily I look to the parijatha tree in front of my room,
just at the gate, in my garden. It is full of white owers, whole night
spreading the marvelous, inviting fragrance. Mornings, one by one, like the
rain drops the owers falls down, as if it is doing an ‘archana’ to the Mother
Nature. But aer few hours the whiteness fades, fragrance vanishes in the
air; the dry owers fell down on the oor as useless. It reminds me about
my life. Whole life I experienced the ‘truth of being,’ but when I share the
experience none in the so called ‘samsara’ ready to experience it, as they are
addicted to the ‘unreal samsara.’ Like the ‘parijatha’ owers, I lay down in
my room, calm, quiet, useless, good for nothing with a pain same as the
‘parijatha’ owers have. I learnt a lesson from the ‘parijatha’ owers, just
give fragrance to others, never mind of your satisfaction, as the nature
never minds the birth and death of that ower, as it is a natural process.
 Break Not The Mirror If Thy Face Is Ugly

P
   default compulsive bug-passers, with the habit of
blaming others for the mistakes committed by them. Of course all
have their share of blunders and wrongs of all sorts during the short
spans of their lives. It is true that to err is human, but the desire to rectify is
divine—the desire to eradicate that tendency, stemming from the
carelessness of the mind that refuses to pay a little more attention to the
task assigned, at a particular moment. e rst step in this direction of
rectifying a mistake is to just accept that it was done by us. Yet how few are
ready, or able to muster the courage at the appropriate moment to accept
responsibility. We simply pass it on to another’s shoulder. Or just make God
himself, or destiny, the scapegoat. “It was because of this, or that perhaps,
that it happened this way”- this is the common pretense and excuse we use
to hide our lapses and we even invent innovative ways to escape!
It is all due to that dragon, the ego, which we have fondled and nursed
since birth, that we never accept the mistakes. So aer the unsuccessful
smear campaign, the air of Ramnagar had become thicker by pounds. I
noticed a change and a divide in mutual dealings of my devotees, and their
interpersonal relations were getting a beating. e hidden operators behind
the mission had become active again. So many people came to me, serving
me up with relish the stories of their choice. I thought to myself that if even
aer so many gentlemanly explanations, they were not able to guard
against cultural slander, then what else could be done to save them from
the net of greed. is thought was eating me up day and night, so these
days I was in an upset mood. I remained in that state of frustrated concern
for the innocent sadhaks among them who were being disturbed.
 I began wondering whether at all I was a sh t to be in that pond. Such
was the wide gap between my instruction, and their comprehension of it.
ough not everybody can succeed in every situation, yet my abilities as a
guru would be under-utilized, in the guiding and leading towards the
ultimate reality of human birth. If they were approaching me with other
inferior intentions, wishes, desires, goals that were not really my area of
accomplishment, I would naturally end up as a op. It is important to
understand that worry and concern at choosing an un t eld of service,
which happens to not be as per our abilities, doesn’t imply that we are
ineligible for anything else. So we have to search our hearts to understand
our own language, feelings, and understandings and nd work that suits
our wavelength. So a doctor must not call an engineer an idiot, or vice
versa. I do not have any attachment to the buildings etc. of the ashram,
only love and concern for the few sincere sadhaks there. is being the rst
abode from where I had begun my evolution into sadhu -hood, it was the
gratitude that was holding me to that place, towards who had helped me
with pure love and affection for my saadhana during those initial days. But
if I chose to continue in that atmosphere, I might be stunting my own way
of going beyond, which would be a loss to them too.
So many options were coming to my mind, but mulling over the pros and
cons made them all seem futile it that situation. One morning when I woke
up, I felt a powerful call from inside that I should leave that place for the
sake of peace. Since that feeling kept appearing repeatedly, my routines
became harder to carry out, and so I decided to obey that inner guidance.
I was very much ummoxed at leaving my Jammu ashram. Of course I
had no special affinity towards the buildings or temples constructed there,
there was still an affectionate so corner in my heart towards the few
disciples whose saadhana was in progress. Once I le the ashram, their
saadhana would de nitely be adversely affected. But there was no other
way than to accept the commands of cruel time. I was not aware of where I
would be going and what the next step would be. I walked out of the
ashram with just the clothes on my body, and with no intention or
instruction of any certainty about my destination. At the chowrastha (four-
way crossing) from where the road lead to the Pathankot, I spotted a three-
wheeler waiting. I had nothing other than my kappar , kamandal and the
clothes I was wearing, and not even a single paisa on me. Even though the
disciples offered to help, some hidden ‘ego’ came up. I told the
autorickshaw boy that I would like to be dropped off at the bus stand but
that I had nothing to pay as fare. He said, “Baba, I am fortunate that you
picked my auto to travel in. Because of this, I am sure that today my
business will be better.” I prayed that his belief would deliver his desire.
Even aer reaching the bus stand, I was clueless about where and how
and why to proceed. But even in that setting, there sprang to mind a habit I
had developed just to boost my mood during my writing work. Yes, in
those days I used to chew betel leaves ! at habit was pushing me to beg
now, when I noticed a petty paan shop owner opening up his shop for
business that morning. I requested him to give me a packet of paan paraag
, and he happily gave it to me. Standing at the bus stand, my mind was
blank. Life is like a leaf in a stream, and I was not sure where it was taking
me. A Delhi-bound bus, which was coming in from Katra (base camp of
Vaishno Devi) entered in into the bus stand. An old woman traveling on
that bus, got down and approached me in a friendly way as if she had
known me since a long time. With a smile, she asked. “Baba, kahan jane ke
liye khade ho ?” (Baba, where are you headed for?) Even though I didn’t
know and had no place of choice in mind, the word just came from my
mouth—“Delhi.” Without any further ado, she promptly purchased a ticket
from the conductor standing nearby and handed it to me. I sat for more
than 10 hours on the bus till it reached Panipat, in the same blank state of
mind.
When the bus began nearing the village of Samalkha, I felt an urge to get
down there. I told the old woman about this intention to alight before
reaching Delhi, but she didn’t reply, so I got down at the Samalkha bus
stand. And as if mechanically, I started moving towards Sharmaji’s house.
When he saw me at the doorstep without bag and baggage itself, he was
very surprised at my sudden appearance. Smelling something wrong, he
asked, “Kya hua? Is baar keval bhiksha patra ke alaava hath me kuch nahi
?” (What happened? is time around you are here with nothing except
bhiksha patra in hand?) Usually I came there in the company of someone
from the village. I told Sharmaji, who was more of a friend than a disciple,
“Aap jaake jaroorat ke kuch kapade aadi leke aayiye .” (Please bring me
some necessities like clothes etc.) By that time, Lata, Sharmaji’s wife
brought me a cup of tea. ey could easily guess that something unpleasant
had happened. I was in silence. Once he had brought me a few new
clothes, toothpaste, brush etc., aer a bath and some lunch I narrated to
them what exactly had happened.
Aer a couple days’ stay there, the news spread among the disciples and
many came to see me. We all, Sharmaji, Lata, Varun (their son), and
Brijalata (sister of Lata) sat together and aer a brief discussion, Sharmaji
offered me a few yards of land in front of his house itself to construct a
room for my stay. I contacted a few of my disciples to arrange some money
to construct that room in Samalkha, and the work was completed in a very
short period, about one month or so. Sharmaji arranged a house-warming
ceremony with pooja , archana etc and a few disciples joined the program.
ough I started living there, my mind was still a little disturbed from the
Jammu situation. A few days aer, some of the Jammu villagers came to
meet me with a request to return, but I was unwilling to accept their
argument; it seemed like they wanted to play down the situation as if it
were not a big issue at all. But I was rm with my refusal. Sharmaji as well
gave them a dressing down for mishandling the issue.
But as is the case with most people, they put the blame on others. It is not
unusual for the guilty to show an innocent face by placing the responsibility
on someone else’s shoulder. Being neutral aer committing a blunder or
mistake, and feigning innocence is de nitely a crime.
 Vyavahara

I
   my way back from Gyanganj. I was bubbling with the
newfound bliss of having had the darshan of my Supreme Gurus at
that protected seat of learning, Gyanganj. As planned already, one of
my friends, a mahatma Swami Lalitananda requested me to do the
installation ceremony of his Shiva Mandir which he had built in Samalkha.
I was on my way there to ful ll my commitment. I reached Panipat
(Samalkha) by the evening of the third day of journey and went to
Surendra Sharma’s residence who was there to welcome me. Aer two days’
stay there, a few sincere disciples insisted I deliver them some
enlightenment, and so I started a satsang session in spite of exhaustion
from the long trip. is time they had arranged the programme at “e
Punjabi Mandir” (known because the mandir was maintained by the
Punjabi population there who had migrated to Samalkha). is time
instead of taking a particular text for satsang , I lectured extempore on
different subjects from the Vedanta , on bhakti , yoga etc. e program was
ful lling to everyone. Aer my lecture there would be bhajan and keerthan
sung everyday by the people who had assembled. I sang only one bhajan
on Krishna, “adharam madhuram . . .” which attracted a lot of people, even
enjoyed by the youth present. Even though these people were not much
interested in the lectures, by the time of my singing the bhajan , more and
more people had assembled to hear me, though I was not a good singer at
all!
By this time the nal phase of the construction work of Lalitananda’s
Mandir was also almost over, and he was preparing for the installation of
the idol of Shiva. A muhurta was xed for Shivaratri day. Well in advance,
he had brought a very imposing ‘Narmadeswar Shiva Lingam’ from Dhavdi
Kund in Madhya Pradesh, and kept it at one of his devotee’s residence at
Pitampura in Delhi. We all went there in a truck just a week before the
installation day, performed a very good pooja at the house where the idol
had been kept, and brought it to Samalkha with grand ceremony to keep at
the newly constructed mandir, where a few local Brahmin priests did the
needed rituals before starting the Shivaratri celebrations.
A well-decorated bullock cart was arranged to carry the big Shiva Lingam
(since Nandi, a bull himself is Shiva’s vahana or vehicle) for nagara
pradakshina . I held the Shivalinga in my hands, and a band played
bhajans as the procession moved. During the pradakshina I was not in
body consciousness, and fully in Shiva bhaava . Accompanying us were
young girls and women carrying 365 pots or kalasams on their heads that
were well-decorated and lled with gangajal . It was really a wonderful
scene, and worth seeing to see so many people participate with so much
devotion in that program. e aspect of unity, love for others, discipline,
and sense of sacri ce were well exhibited by the devotees in the name of
Shiva. e next day being Shivaratri, along with the chanting of Veda
mantras and ‘Om Nama Shivaya ’, I myself installed the Shivalinga, and did
abhisheka with the 365 pots of gangajal . e day was packed with various
events and the program went on for the whole night with bhajan/keerthan .
On the day aer, the program concluded with a feast of common feeding
or bhandara which was attended by thousands. My heart was deeply
satis ed at this. In between I received a message from Jammu that they
needed some guidance in the construction. So, aer staying with Surender
Sharma for a few more days, I went to Jammu (Kathua) Ashram along with
him.
Upon reaching there I realized that it was not for work that I had been
called, but to have my darshan ; some devotees had sent some notes. ey
had heard of the big gathering and satsang at Samalkha, and had thought I
might settle there for long, due to receiving more love there. So at Jammu I
now had routine normal life, with the construction work almost ending.
Whenever I nd a conducive atmosphere my heart automatically starts
longing for a saadhana of deeper nature. So thinking along those lines, I
felt that this place was also looking okay now, with no commitments and no
obligations, I was free there. e burden of daily bhiksha was met too, as it
was so arranged that daily one house in the village would take care of my
food and other needs. I thought that now with the shelter and permanent
arrangement for food etc., my saadhana should go well without a hitch.
But in a corner of my heart, there was a deep yearning to share with
sadhaks of equal footing, all the experiences, enlightenments,
enhancements, and clarity that I had received from the trip to Gyanganj.
at was not possible here in Jammu though the arrangements for
saadhana were perfect. at was creating the vacuum. I gave the heart a lot
of toys to play with, but to no avail.
Aer a few days stay thus in that state of mind, and with the monotony
and boredom, I took to thinking about the options for my destination. e
Narmada began making her case forcefully with rights. So I asked one of
my disciples to book a ticket to Indore, with the Narmada pulling me
towards her once again.
e following week I started my sojourn to Omkareshwar via Indore. I do
not know the reason for my attachment towards Narmada. Even though I
had done long stints there, I was not still not fully satis ed! On the second
day, I reached Omkareshwar and as usual went to Markandeya Sanyas
Ashram for lodging. I felt the calmness in my heart, as if I was on the lap of
my mother.
 Be There Where You Are

T
   been cloudy since the previous night. Even though the
sun appeared, it was in hide-and-seek mode and the weather was
sultry. ere was a possibility of rain. But the dull sky affected my
mood strangely; an inexplicable experience, like a cloud heavy with
moisture but lacking other requisite factors, unable to pour down and just
thundering occasionally. A cloudy sky is much like the writer’s mind. e
vaporized waters of emotions form the clouds of experiences. e rain is
like the writing itself. When the mind nishes pouring out its thoughts
through writing, the mind looks exactly like the sky aer a heavy
downpour. e clean, bright, and thought-free mind is like that spotless
sky. It is only then that life becomes an effortless joyride. In our traditional
literature they say that a deer starts to feel the pains of labor right from day
one of her pregnancy, and the pain continues till the day of delivery. My
mind’s throbbing too was not much different from this.
e day I started thinking of writing the second part of my
autobiography, that ‘cloud’ started to form and a sweet pain began
somewhere in my heart. When a raincloud forms in the sky we, in our
bodies, start sensing some pressure. Similarly when the mind forms that
cloud, the heart feels the pinch. e cloud began to grow in size and
empowered my instruments of expression (writing). e body, mind, soul,
and intellect all came together to work to shape the concepts and themes
into embryos of episodes, one-by-one, of my experiences along the long
and tedious journey of my life. And my ngers started converting them
into words that I transferred from my memory into my best friend’s
memory: a small laptop computer who has been a recent companion.
Swami Abhayanandji, another friend, who though staying far away
physically, is near my heart, and who of course through cell phone or e-
mail has revived my memory with his wonderful vocabulary and his
mature thoughts. I am grateful to these inventions which brings distant
hearts closer, and thanks to these, we are both able to work simultaneously
even with this geographical divide and exchange our views (sometimes we
do disagree too).
A few years back, I was hospitalized in order to attend to a cardiac
problem in a multi-specialty hospital. Investigations diagnosed a ventricular
ectopic beat and also that I was suffering from lower chamber disorders
causing chest pain. ey planned for an ECG study and an angiogram. One
Dr. Narasimha, a well-known cardiologist and a rare human being with
much affection towards me was looking aer my case. I was brought to
Hyderabad in an unconscious condition. Apart from Dr. Satyanarayana,
Mohi, Sujatha and Satyam were also with me. e other arrangements for
my treatment at the hospital were done by D. Narasa Raju and Harikishore.
Aer a routine check-up the doctors wanted to order an ECG study and
even planned for a pacemaker. By then, Guru Poornima was around the
corner. In fact I was not in a mood to undergo any type of treatment like
surgery. But the angiogram and EPG study were inevitable.
Preparations were over and I was taken into the operation theatre which
was well-equipped with all modern facilities. Usually any type of
tranquilizer or even anesthesia has never worked on my body. As my body
is ‘yogic’ with activated shat chakras , the chemical energy of
pharmaceuticals are never able to impact me. A yogi whose shat chakras are
activated with spiritual energy will never respond to any arti cial energy.
Or if it is required to work on such a yogi, he has to deactivate those
chakras , which is dangerous. Doctors administered three or four units of
injections to put me in an unconscious state, so they could do further
procedures. But I had forgotten to mention the crucial fact of the chakras
to them, so in spite of all their attempts, they failed. Because of me they
were all getting delayed on their schedules. So the irritated Dr. Narasimha
asked me in frustration, “Are you a man or a devil or a god? For the rst
time ever, I am seeing such a person who has almost no response to even
the heaviest of anesthetics.” en I remembered, and told him, “Dear
doctor, you need not worry. I will get your job done. Okay, now you just
mark the place of your choice with an ice cube (where you want to make
the incision) for inserting the catheter. I will remove my mind from there,
and you can proceed with your study.” But he was not ready to accept my
idea, and refused to take a risk, telling me that medical science does not
permit such foolery. I argued, “When I myself have signed the necessary
papers you can do it at my risk. You are a Hindu and believe in the
existence of divinity, gods and in the words of our holy scriptures; then
again you want them to comply with science which even now in spite of all
its mighty achievements is just in its inception. Pray to your ishta devata if
at all you have one, and please go ahead.” Perhaps it challenged his
knowledge base or perhaps I had touched on his belief, for he nally
agreed. With some hesitation and caution, he agreed to mark the joint of
my leg with an ice cube, and cut a little to insert the catheter. It took more
than two hours to complete the surgery. e next day he paid me a special
visit to understand how it could have been possible for a human being to
keep in check his mind for so long a time. Instead of giving him the lengthy
lecture he was expecting, I merely said, “It’s possible. Only that one must
have a Guru, and a staunch belief in the scriptures and an unwavering faith
in the Guru.” For, this is not an arbitrary science which changes its sayings
and data according to whim. As a token of gratitude for the successful
surgery and correction the ventricular ectopic beat, I placed my rudraksha
mala which I had been wearing for a long time, around his neck. I could
very well see various emotions on his face including that of astonishment,
and his eyes lled up with tears. I learned that a few months later at a
cardiology conference, he had presented a paper on this incident that he
had come face to face with. Aer a few days, I was discharged from the
hospital and came back to normalcy.
e dark and ominous pregnant cloud that had been hovering in the sky
had now released and emptied itself. e rain had deeply saturated the
earth, and the sun now shone afresh in his own glory. It is the perennial
truth: if you have staunch belief in ‘Amma’, the Ultimate Guru, the
impossible becomes possible.
 To You, For The Motivating Assurances

I
   easy to bring a sentence to a ‘full stop’ with a period, aer so
many commas have been hooking together to form a meaningful
statement. e journey from the rst letter to comma was easy
enough. Moving on from comma to semicolon was difficult, and from
semicolon to period, very painful. But I have to put that period, that ‘full
stop’. e inevitable ending to my story. ere is still a bit le of the
journey, it seems. But I wonder whether it would be possible for me to pen
down the rest of my story. Hence the full stop. It is a decision made by
Time and I have to bow down and obey.
It has been raining again since morning. e sound of the thunder and
lightning arouses a fear in me. Is this the end? I am at my writing table on
my laptop, writing a few more words. A sound is heard—yes, it is that of
my beloved Guruji, Avadhoota Taramayee, that echoes in the room. Maybe
it comes from the inner consciousness, that home within where she dwells,
in my very pulsations. ey seem to say, “Band karo, likhna padhna. Bas,
bahut ho gaya. Kisko sunayega tumhari kathayen, kisko is ke prati sraddha
hei. Bas re bas .” (Stop all this reading and writing. It has been quite
enough. Who are you telling all these stories to, is there anyone devoted
enough to care at all? Put an end to it.) I look around. I have been in maun
vrata since yesterday. I felt that need to be alone, not lonely. I need rest. So
I keep to myself, locking myself in my room.
Here comes the end of the memories of an avadhoota with a vision, a
sadhaka with a mission, a dreaming social activist with great love for the
world, a guru with experiences to share, and a failed human being who
only wanted to see his fellow beings live in eternal harmony and mutual
love. I am sure my life was never successful in that last aspect, except for
my saadhana . Aer I realized that there were a lot of devils dancing
around me wearing masks of divinity, I tried to join them but mask-less,
and failed. I was searching for my real face in that faceless crowd. I know
that there will be no use to this book. ey may read or they may not, and
this will also end up as another ‘pretty thing’ in their bookcase. ey will
tell people, “Oh, my Guruji suffered a lot, and he wrote a wonderful
account of it in his book.” Another mask that they will wear on their
occasions of dignity.
I have tried to share, and perhaps I have been wrong in doing so, in the
intention of partaking my experiences along with the esteemed readers of
this work. Some of those were bitter, some sour, and some sweet. I tried to
be honest to the facts in writing this. I don’t know if some of you felt hurt,
felt happy, or felt angry with me for writing the truths. But it was
inevitable. Even if a single person awakens from the deep sleep of
ignorance, I will feel successful.
e time of my departure is near and I must embark upon my onward
journey. So even if I want to, I will not be able to add any more words
though there exists a full ocean to plunge into. I prefer to be free from the
scorching sun of the loveless world, the sel sh mob, the disorderly crowd,
and feel free to be under the soothing shadow of my Guruji, always at her
cozy bosom, at least during my last days. Let me be in mauna , the silence
that speaks volumes. Let me be within myself, to make sure that the end
will be calm, composed and serene. Let the end come in a state of full
awareness, enabling me to be reborn with full awareness.
No more words—the words have merged into oblivion, merged in the air,
in water, in sound, in earth, and in re. And I too shall one day, merge into
the cosmic soul.
And that ‘roaring’ will be in silence hereaer.
 The Waiting

T
   set. I had imagined an earlier sunset. Last fourteen
years I endured the pain of lung cancer and many betrayals. Life
was becoming heavier by day. I did not know when to put the full
stop nor did I know how to put the full stop. Many a times, the seeming
full stops ended as semi colons and I continued to breathe. Many times I
thought, ‘My only success in this life has been my saadhana. I failed
miserably in the world otherwise. I failed in interactions with worldly humans
while I was successful in my interactions with my Mother and the masters of
Gyanganj. Two distinctly different worlds! e world of pretensions and the
world of Truth!’
Since a few decades, I have been walking this tedious path literally with
blood in my mouth and 5th stage cancer which I had taken over from a
woman who was dying from this painful illness. Even though I went for
treatments, no cancer was visible on the X-rays and scans. e doctors were
intrigued. I once explained this to Sujatha and some of my closest
followers. When our seven chakras are fully activated and we operate in
the super-conscious realms, physical body is equal to sukshma (subtle).
When cosmic energy is fully activated in our system, any kind of arti cial
energy, such as medicines or machines, will not work or will just get
nulli ed. Medical science will not understand that.
e nagging ailment has been weighing me down for the last fourteen
years. Many times, I requested Guru Mandala to allow me to step down. I
told them “I am ill, I am tired.” ey would ask “Who is tired? is is our
body. You are us.”
I was aware of the fact that a Guru will have to come back if He leaves
without handing over. If you read the Kailash chapter of the Autobiography
of an Avadhoota, at one point Ma Tara Mayee tells me that I should nd a
worthy successor, hand over my siddhis (powers) and spiritual bank
balance to him and, only then, I can be totally liberated. is successor
would need to be someone who has the capacity and maturity to handle all
that I have spiritually earned and to whom I can transfer it all completely.
Last fourteen years, I was in deep pain and agony to nd such a successor
to run the spiritual activities and seva activities started by me. Despite my
nagging illness, I searched in the world for long, and had almost given up
hope. I could not nd anybody eligible to receive what I had earned
through intense and long saadhana and with the grace of my Guru and the
Masters of Guru Mandala. At the back of my mind, I was always feeling
that the same tradition that made Nadananda will also nd a suitable
successor. How can I be the one to nd the right one aer all?
 Meeting Mohanji

T
   Datta Jayanti in 2015, at Dhar in Madhya Pradesh,
Mohanji and family came to meet me. It was not planned in any
way. I knew nothing about him except that he is from Kerala, my
home state. My friend, Sri Nagarajan, from Varanasi played the catalyst
here. He arranged our meeting. When Mohanji and group came into my
room, he prostrated at my feet in deep reverence. At this rst meeting itself,
both of us were in a silent voidness for some time. ere was a strange
familiarity. ere was an instant bonding. Something attracted me to him.
He was humble and quiet.
I realized that Mohanji himself is a recognized Guru in the world spiritual
arena and has his own following. His humility never displayed his stature.
He never explained in detail what he does in the world and this was
amusing to me. Usually, people are eager to display their achievements and
credentials. Most of people in the world are in a hurry to prove themselves.
Here is a different man, who has already attained a stature in the world,
but never cared. He had no airs or protocols. He behaved as humble and a
loyal disciple. is made things easier. ere was no ego barrier between us.
I was not quite thinking about the divine design behind this seemingly
strange encounter. I asked Mohanji rather bluntly to tell me the purpose of
his visit and what he wants from me. His reply was instant: “I want nothing
except your blessing. I felt a deep urge to see you, aer I saw your picture
in the book that Sri Nagarajan gied to me. I have no other reason or
purpose for this visit.” I told him there are no coincidences. ere is always
a larger purpose. I also said not to worry, surely Mother will tell me. I
arranged for their stay nearby and asked him to stay back for a day and
leave the day aer Datta Jayanti.
Aer they le my room, I was in isolation in my room. Suddenly, I had a
vision of the great Mahatapa Baba of Gyanganj (also known as Mahavatar
Babaji) and heard a murmuring voice: “Take care of Mohanji”. I asked,
“How?” But no reply was forthcoming. I got the meaning of it. e
following day, the day of Datta Jayanti 2015, I announced my intention to
honor Mohanji in keeping with the instruction of the Guru Mandala. I
decorated him with a shawl and a Sree Yantra in front of all people present
at the ashram in Dhar that day. Because I never told him then, Mohanji
did not know anything about what Mahatapa said to me. Mohanji told me
that none of this was necessary. He had no expectations or demands, nor
did he ponder further on the purpose of our meeting. I also decided to let
time reveal things.
Time went by. Mohanji and I were in touch regularly by telephone and
through inner communion. My ailment was arresting my mobility most of
the time. On Mohanji’s birthday, as per the Indian almanac, in early March
2016, we met again and I initiated him to Sri Vidya. In June 2016, I was
invited to join Mohanji in Shirdi for the inauguration of a vegan restaurant
Ahimsa Vegan as well as Madhuban, both owned by some close disciples of
Mohanji. I agreed to come not only because I support a non-violent lifestyle
but also because I already had an insight that something very important
was about to happen in Shirdi.

Trip to Shirdi
Before we embarked on the Shirdi trip, I phoned Mohanji and told him
that two of us should walk the streets of Shirdi together. I knew his
schedule would be busy due to the function for which many of his disciples
would come to Shirdi. I asked him to ensure that he dedicates some time
for our silent walk in Shirdi. He said: “Guruji, your wish is my command.
Do consider it as done.” Hence, soon aer breakfast, two of us started
walking towards the temple of Sai Baba, Dwarakamai and the Samadhi
Mandir. I told Mohanji that we won’t be going into the Samadhi Mandir
and those who must meet us will meet us on the streets of Shirdi.
We walked seemingly aimlessly and only I knew the higher purpose for
taking him alone through the sacred streets of Shirdi. While walking
together, I pointed out to him how many thousands of people are eating
their food in Sai Baba’s name today. How many shops, restaurants, hospitals
and schools get their sustenance in Sai Baba’s name! While Sai Baba was in
His body, he hardly had any food to eat. Hardly anybody offered him food
or shelter, except perhaps a handful of people. Both Mohanji and I have
experienced similar situations in life. Today, we may not have sufficient
funds, but tomorrow, so many will thrive in our name. e likes of us
receive discrimination and betrayal while living, and glori cation aer
death.
As we continued to walk together in blissful silence, as one consciousness,
I ensured Mohanji that I will never leave his hand. I revealed to him that
our relationship was several lifetimes old and that I will always protect him
and empower him to do more in the world, just like my Guru helped me. I
could feel the pain of betrayals that he endured, just like I did, and told
him that he will never have any problems in life. Guru Mandala will ensure
that. ose who le or betrayed his trust lost him forever. It is their loss.
ose who see only our terrestrial side will completely miss the
consciousness and the tradition that we represent. Such people do not
possess the eligibility to walk the Golden path of Lord Datta to the ultimate
end. I thus encouraged him to just relax and do more for the world. I
assured him that I shall be with him all through. is is a promise I was
happy to make because I knew Mohanji well.
e walk continued until we nally stopped at the temples of Lords
Shiva, Shani and Ganesha inside the Shirdi temple complex. And there he
was, my beloved paramesti guru (Guru’s guru’s guru), Bhruguram
Paramahamsa, with his matted hair and sparkling eyes, standing right in
front of the Shani temple. As usual he was invisible to most people except
perhaps me and Mohanji. ose who are subtle could possibly see a lean
man with matted hair, a wandering saint or a Nath Sadhu, standing and
looking at the entrance of the Lord Shani temple. But nobody except me
knew who he really was and why he came.
I mentally prostrated to him and told Mohanji that he is the one who was
waiting for us. I took out the 100 rupee note, which was prepared for this
way back, wrapped up in the cloth around my waist and placed it into
Mohanji’s hand. I then instructed him to give it to this sadhu. Mohanji took
the money and walked towards the great Bhruguram Paramahamsa who
then turned and looked deep into Mohanji’s eyes. He received the money
from Mohanji and graciously bowed down to him. We walked on. I was
lled with deep joy and awe. I said nothing to Mohanji at that point in time
nor did he ask me the signi cance of what happened just now. One thing
about Mohanji is that he hardly sought explanations for anything and
almost always never asked WHY about anything. I was just deeply
contented for I knew what this meant. Bhruguram Paramahamsa, as you
know from my Autobiography, is the guru of Bhagawan Nithyananda and
my direct connection to Gyanganj. When Mohanji gave a dakshina to
Bhruguram Paramahamsa, which he accepted, he made a direct connection
with Gyanganj. us my job was over.
Soon we le the temple. While walking back, I revealed to Mohanji that
Shirdi Sai Baba was the 37th pontiff of Gyanganj. I am the 48th. Now I am
not well. It is time for me to remove this mantle. I am waiting for orders.
e power of this incarnation will remain and multiply for 300 years aer
leaving the physical form. Same with Sai Baba. Same with me.
I wanted to make sure Mohanji understands that his existence has a
different avor than mine but that we are one in consciousness. I made it
clear to him that I do not touch money. When people give me money, I use
it for serving the needy. I do not have a bank account. But he is different.
He is a grihasti. He has a family and responsibility to take care of them. I
told him that he must lead a different lifestyle than me and live like a
regular householder.
I always treat Mohanji as my brother, not as my disciple. When an older
brother is transferring everything he has to his younger brother, he has
faith in him. I told Mohanji why I sign off my mails to him with “brotherly,
Nadananda.” I do not want to have any barrier between us, not even that of
guru and disciple. I am like his elder brother. I come to him. He need not
come to me. He need not take any effort anymore. He has already come to
me, come back to me. Now it is my turn. I come towards him running, just
like my guru came running to me and took over my life and destiny. I thus
told Mohanji to just be available. Just be there.
I later revealed to Mohanji what had happened in front of the Shani
temple at Shirdi. I could make out that Mohanji recognized from the eyes
of the sadhu that he was no ordinary wandering saint but his gateway to
the ultimate reality. He understood that this man belonged to Guru
Mandala, but did not know his full identity. I then told him that this was
Bhruguram Paramahamsa himself, the one who took me to Gyanganj. He
is the one who guided me. He is eternal.

The Revelation in Mookambika

e nal con rmation about Mohanji being my successor happened during
my trip to Mookambika on Guru Poornima in July 2016. It was my great
wish to undertake this nal trip during which I would visit all the places
sacred to me, the places that I formerly visited with my beloved Guru Tara
Mayee. It was a wonderful experience. I relived the times I spent with her
years ago. On the eve of Guru Poornima, while at Mookambika,
Bhruguram Paramahamsa suddenly appeared in my room. With his unique
rmness and clarity, he told me: “You can step down now. You have found
a successor.”
I knew what this meant. I had the rst con rmation from Mahatapa,
second in Shirdi and now in Mookambika the nal con rmation happened.
Everything became crystal clear to me. He has come to receive from me. He
was sent. is meant completion for me. Fourteen years of my waiting for a
successor was thus arriving at a ful lling completion. Instant joy and relief
lled my inner space.
It was clear to me that Mohanji has been chosen by the Guru Mandala to
be my successor. Usually, every Guru gets raw marble to carve a suitable
idol. Here, I got a ready-made one. Mohanji hardly needed any chiseling. I
waited for fourteen years and Mohanji came as a ready vessel, ready to
receive. I was asked to confer the title of Brahmarishi to Mohanji.
e handing over ceremony of my spiritual powers to Mohanji was
originally xed for Datta Jayanti in December 2016. Due to my health
challenges and as per the instruction of the Guru Mandala, I moved the
ceremony earlier to Vijayadashami, which fell on October 10th , 2016.
I explained to Mohanji how important this function would be. I told him
that it will be life changing for him and for me and that his family members
should join us. I then made it a point to personally invite his parents from
Kerala and wife and daughter from Europe over the phone, one by one. All
of them were happy to come and in the end more than 80 devotees of
Mohanji from different parts of the world decided to join.
I explained to Mohanji and his family that this is not an ordinary day,
ordinary title or ordinary function. All has been arranged by the Guru
Mandala. Aer this function, Mohanji will never be the same again. I will
step down. He will climb up.

The handover ceremony on Vijayadashami

I knew very well that such a ceremony has never happened in public in the
past. Mohanji is already known in the world and I found it my
responsibility to declare to the world about his new status. It was my
responsibility to position him properly so that he could easily do his work in
the world. I knew there would be many distractors who would try to
belittle this function or belittle Mohanji and me. For Mohanji’s sake, it had
to be public and official. As per the instructions of the Masters of the Guru
Mandala, which I represent, it was my privilege to ordain Mohanji with the
title of Brahmarishi. is was the last function that I intended to perform in
this lifetime. e auspicious day of Vijayadashami, which marks the end of
the 10-day celebrations honoring the Divine Mother as well as the
Mahasamadhi day of Beloved Shirdi Sai Baba, was chosen for the function.
I and the ashramites of Siddhaganj in Kurnool worked hard for many
days to prepare for the function. When close to hundred international
guests arrived from different parts of the globe, the ashram was buzzing
with activity as all experienced the warmth of heartfelt hospitality at the
ashram. It was beautiful to see all basking in the love of the Mother as one
family.
A day before the actual ceremony, on the morning of Saturday the 9th
October, I gave my last public satsang to the people who assembled at
Kurnool for the ceremony. In the evening, I led the Guru Mandala pooja, a
powerful invocation and worship of Guru Mandala. Mohanji was at my
side. In an extremely heightened state during the Pooja, I witnessed my
beloved Guru Tara Mayee and the Masters of the Guru Mandala appearing
in the room. All felt them and many could see them. It started raining right
aer the Pooja. No more signs were needed. Guru Mandala was happy
with our offerings and our work. Rains could destroy our plans. I went out
and called Lord Indra to withdraw the clouds. e rain stopped instantly.
Mohanji and I met alone in my room at 4am for the actual handover of
powers. I performed a special Homa for this purpose. One of my closest
disciples Sujata was present as well to assist me. As I performed the Homa,
the sacred ame went towards Mohanji and I transferred all my energy to
him. e full process would take 21—51 days though. It all came from
Guru Mandala, from Datta Bhagavan to him. Why he is selected is none of
my business, and it is none of his business. It has been decided by the
higher authorities of Gyanganj, by the sacred Guru Mandala which I
represent. I was thus relieved from all my responsibilities and noticed that
my blood pressure immediately went back to normal. I was relieved. I felt
totally relaxed, a big burden lied off my shoulders.
e energy accumulated during years of intense saadhana in the
Himalayas would not go to waste aer all. I would not have to come back
to Earth to complete my tasks. I also paid my debts to my Guru when I
handed over to an able successor. e beloved Guru Mandala ensured that.
It is my sankalpa that Mohanji too reaches Gyanganj. I have no doubt that
it will happen. On this auspicious day Mohanji was included into the sacred
Guru Parampara (the lineage of the Guru), the image of which was
introduced to the public for the rst time.
Before the public function started, I arranged for another special
ceremony which was, in a way, blending the energies of East and West. I
wanted to express my deepest gratitude to Acchan and Amma, Mohanji’s
parents, for bringing Mohanji to Earth and into my life. I told his father
that Mohanji has come with the power to li seven generations before him
and aer him. e beauty of this process was transcendent and touched the
hearts of all present. Amma was visibly engulfed by the most blissful energy
and indeed looked like a Devi. I did my job.
e public ceremony started in the aernoon when more than 300 people
gathered in a marquee which was specially erected and decorated for the
function. Aer the launch of the rst volume of the international version of
my book “Autobiography of an Avadhoota” and several other books in local
languages, I adorned Mohanji with a shawl and conferred upon him the
title of Brahmarishi. Mohanji then delivered a speech that brought tears in
the eyes of all who were present.
e speech ended with the silence. Deep cleansing happened in the
people present at the function. As I was leaving, I could see some of the
people who met me for the rst time literally sobbing. Something deep
within them was stirred. Divine willed it that way. But that was not the way
Mother would want the function to end. She wants to see her children in
bliss, celebrating life and radiating Her Love.
Gokulanji, one of my loving devotees who is a gied musician, and a
group of talented fellow musicians poured out their love in musical art
form on the stage. e beauty of bhakti expanded all the hearts. I thus
decided to go back to the marquee. Sadness was replaced by a big explosion
of joy, which was celebrated through endless dance.
e function ended in the mandir with a ghungroo (when Avadhoota
Nadananda dances with ecstasy wearing anklets and a garland of bells
around his hips). I went into the exalted state of the Divine Mother and we
celebrated Her grace, beauty and elegance in the vastly expanded state of
Consciousness. My feet moved in Her graceful dance to the powerful beat
of the drum by my beloved disciple Swami Ajayananda, as the purifying
essence of frankincense engulfed all of us. is was the beautiful ending to
an unforgettable day.
e next day in the morning I initiated Devi Mohan, Mohanji’s wife and
disciple, into Sri Vidya. is was the last initiation that I performed in this
lifetime.

The Farewell
For the last fourteen years I was focused on sel ess service as my main
saadhana. I was seen in the slums, among the street dwellers, railway
stations, in hospitals where people were suffering. For fourteen years, I was
not doing any pooja—service to the poor was my pooja. In Sanskrit, our
Gurus taught us, “Atmano mokshartham jagat hitaya cha” It means:
“Whatever you are doing, it should be for the betterment of others, it
should de nitely be for self-realization.” But, I forgot the self-realization
part for the last fourteen years. I don’t care if I am realized or not; but what
I have realized is that our life can be an inspiration to others. If the helpless
people see people like me come out and wipe their tears—that`s enough.
Now I am 76. is body is tired. I need to withdraw from public life, go
back to myself and merge with the supreme consciousness. I shall be in
isolation. I am going to withdraw and simply be in me. It`s not an end—it`s
a beginning, except that it’s a beginning for me.
Two years before, I had declared Mohinish Divekar from Chowl,
Maharashtra as my spiritual successor. He is taking care of that part since
then. Mohanji is holding the beacon light to carry forward the seva
activities. Last Sivaratri, a brahmachari was sent to me by Maa Narmada to
ll the vaccum in Siddhaganj. He was initiated into the Tirtha tradition of
Sanyasa and given the monastic name, Swami Ajayananda Tirth. He will be
my successor at Siddhaganj. at’s all. ank you all.
I close with Mohanji’s speech in the title conferment ceremony:
“He was here . . . He is here . . . He will be here . . . He was, is, and will be
with us always . . .
Last 40 years he was seen among the street dwellers, slum dwellers,
footpaths, railway stations, bus stands in different cities as one amongst
them - to feed them, to clothe them, to treat them for their ailments, to
give solace to their sufferings, to teach their children about the
preliminary ‘samskars’ of Bharath. Yes, He is always with all of us. at is
our Guruji—Avadhoota Nadananda.
Now, aer decades of moving here and there, travelling a lot, working
almost 18 hours a day for betterment of suffering people, now . . . He is
tired physically. Even though His body was being eaten away by cancer,
suffering its unbearable pain, vomiting blood and pus for the last 4 years,
He was continuously travelling to meet people, conducting gatherings,
creating teams, arranging funds etc., to work for the suffering people
around. May it be in Kurnool or Vishakhapatnam, in Dhar or Bangalore,
his tireless work yielded results as the street or slum dwellers, rag pickers,
beggars and other needy get food, medicine and clothes, education etc.,
regularly.
He is tired . . . physically . . . He needs rest and medication in this evening
time of His physical existence. Now He has reluctantly agreed to His
beloved devotees and doctors that He is retiring from all social
activities. In Bangalore, when I met Him last month He told me: “e
inevitable sun set is near . . .”
Entrusting all responsibilities on the shoulders of all of us, He is retiring
from all activities, and will be con ned to his room at Siddhaganj,
Kurnool in meditation and medication. He will be available
every ursday morning for an hour or so to meet all of us. He assured us
 of that. Let Him take rest. All of us will shoulder the responsibilities
entrusted on us. May it be saadhana or service . . . let us pledge in front of
Him that we will de nitely deliver our duties of saadhana or service with
utmost care . . . and will yield a positive result.
As a father, a mother, a guide, a Master, He will be with us as the Pure
Consciousness. I am sure.
Let Him be with us as the Awareness of Existence”
As a parting word, let it be known that Avadhoota Nadananda loved each
one of you and will love you through time into eternity.
 Parting Thoughts

Deep within the recesses of my memory, there still lie impressions of

incidents that I have not called forth. At the repeated urging of my
disciples and others, eager to hear more such stories, I have travelled
back into memory lane. Here in the epilogue are scattered reminiscences
that will hopefully satisfy their hankering to know more details of my
itinerant life. If they prove to be food for more re ection, I shall have
trupthi or satisfaction.
 Sparks Of Oblivion

BEFORE ENTERING
It was only a fortnight before that ‘Roaring Silence’, the second part of my
autobiography was released in Kurnool on Makara Sankranti day. at
same night I le for Hyderabad to travel to Delhi and then onwards to
Samalkha near Panipat, in the company of Abhayanandji and Sharmaji. A
group of devotees and disciples gathered at Siddhaganj and waited till late
in the night to see me off. e moments of farewell were full of emotion. I
too was in an unusual mood.
I had already bid farewell to my thoughts. at is why the last line in
‘Roaring Silence’ reads “ . . . the roaring will be silent hereaer”. But for the
past few days I received numerous calls from some well-wishers, disciples
and devotees, and the common sentiment was: “Guruji, we feel that the
book is incomplete. You are still hiding something from us. Do tell us about
the remaining episodes of your life”. en the same words, in another tune,
came from Abhayanand’s mouth as well—“I am sure you will write more.
Do it. I will do the repair work.”
And so this morning, in the early hours before the gods awaken, here I
am brooding again with my thoughts in my room at Srikul (Samalkha). I
have that itch inside my head. Perhaps there is still something remaining to
be shared, some more thoughts le to tell. I tell myself. “Yes, I am starting
my writing work today, on Poornima day, opening the doors to a new
dawn, I will begin now.”
So here is the beginning of SPARKS OF OBLIVION. Unforgettable
experiences of my journey of yesteryears. e never ending journey of an
avadhoota, with experiences in all avors—bitter, sour, sweet, hot. In
reality, there is nothing to be conveyed to you all. is is just an
‘aatmagaatham ’– a talking to self. And if at all you have overheard, I have
no problem with that. e sound is yours, the words are yours, the
emotions are yours and yours only. I was merely a witness, and am now
merely trying to collect the sparks. e sparks may take the form of a re. It
may burn you or it may warm you.
So let us enter . . .
 Spark 1

. . . AND AGAIN
And again, the story doesn’t seem to end; every day ends with new
experiences that are stored. When I recollect those stored experiences, I
think they must be in black and white, to be in words, in order to be
shared.
One may regard useless the telling of such stories of an avadhoota , or
even the reading of them. But let that reading be a ‘reading between the
lines’ for therein lie a few morsels which may prove useful to the reader,
and of course to the coming generation. So, here I go again!
I was on the banks of Narmada in those days, roaming here and there
simply, not as a parikramavasi , but as a sailani (wanderer). In fact my
inclination was to move around in ‘Soolpaneeswar Jhaadi’ 15 for some time.
Carrying nothing in hand except my khappar and kamandal , I le
Omkareshwar with no aim in mind. In a few days I had reached Khalghat
where I camped under a tree on the north bank of the Narmada. For food,
I used to go to the nearby village once a day. A few villagers had cautioned
that my stay by the river was not at all advisable, as there might be
disturbance from snakes or drunkards. It was true as both are dangerous
beings with poison. In spite of the warning, I made up my mind to stay by
the river banks.
It was near the end of the day that I saw a sadhu, possibly a
parikramavasi ( one who circumambulates the Narmada river),
approaching me. e appearance was of an old man with well-built body,
white beard and hair, and he wore just a small piece of cloth. He somehow
seemed very familiar.
 Saying “Narmade Har ”, he offered pranaams and I too reciprocated. He
sat near me and opening his small shoulder bag, offered me a packet of
biscuits. I was surprised and when I looked to his face for a minute, I
recognised him—he was Achyuthanand Giri! We had previously met in
Kashi during my saadhana at Manikarnika Ghat. Achyuthanand was born
in a remote village of Bengal and had been doing his Tara saadhana on the
same ghat where I too had stayed for saadhana .
“Are you on Narmada parikrama ?” he asked.
When I told him that I was just roaming around he was happy to share
that he too had come there for the same reason. We talked for some time
about our saadhanas and shared biscuits too, as dusk approached.
With sunset, the Narmada was covered in a blanket of darkness. I just lay
down on the sands and Achyuthananda sat near, humming a Bengali tune.
en he was silent and seemed lost in his thoughts. A deep silence
prevailed with only the ‘har . . . har . . .’ sound of the Narmada punctuating
it. He broke the mauna with the words “Why you are not going to
Kamakhya for your saadhana?” A few days ago I had indeed been thinking
of visiting Kamakhya, but lacking the money to purchase a rail ticket to
Gauhati, I had scrapped that proposal of my mind. Now this swamiji was
suggesting too that I visit Kamakhya.
“Why Kamakhya in particular?” I asked.
In a beautiful voice, as if it was coming from the depth of his heart he
replied, “at yogini Brahmani was enquiring about you”.
Yes, I remembered her quite well. She had helped me a lot during my
previous visits to Kamakhya, and helped mold my shakti saadhana . She
was the one who had introduced and initiated me into certain veera
saadhanas at Kamakhya on the banks of the Brahmaputra. If she was
remembering me, there was de nitely some important reason behind it, I
thought. Keeping myself in silence for a few minutes, I replied—“Yes, sure,
I shall visit Kamakhya shortly”.
I felt deeply drowsy and my eyes, feeling heavy, closed under their own
weight. A gentle breeze from the Narmada seemed to embrace me and I
fell into a deep sleep.
Feeling a peculiar kind of waxy coolness on my body and the sensation of
something crawling on me, I opened my eyes. It was almost dawn and I
could see a long black snake on my body making its way towards my head.
I screamed in fear, “Help, Help!’” Achyuthananda was sitting near me, eyes
closed as if in deep meditation. I was shivering in fear, and in a moment he
lied the snake and tossed it into Narmada. I sat there, gasping in deep
breaths.
“Afraid?” Swamiji asked.
I nodded as I wasn’t able to speak, my throat having gone dry. “Yes, very
much”, I murmured with difficulty.
e villagers had rightly cautioned me against staying there as the place
was frequented by snakes. My mind was now a bit upset and ready to move
from there.
Achyuthanand asked me to go with him to Khandwa or to Indore, and
was even willing to get me a rail ticket to Kamakhya, but at that moment I
was still not in the mood to leave Narmada. I replied, “I would like to be at
the Jhadi (the forest) for some more time. I will plan my trip to Kamakhya
later”.
Doing nothing and being empty and alone, I wanted to be at
Soolpanneswar Jhadi for some time. I too stood up and aer bathing,
started making my way towards the Jhadi which although not very far, was
not very near either.

15 Soolpaneshwar wildlife sanctuary located in Narmada district, Gujarat.

 Spark 2

NEITHER HERE, NOR THERE

He had been in a pathetic mental state when he had last met me. I had
initiated him a few years ago into shakti saadhana and I thought he was
making good progress. In spite of a long life in study and saadhana and
stay with famous sadhus and sanyasis of the time, he was still very much
addicted to his wife and children. A Brahmin by birth, he had done several
purascharans of the Gayatri, but was impoverished as far as domestic
nances were concerned.
“I would like to be initiated into sanyasa , please do something Guruji”,
he said.
I was in one of the ashrams in the city, totally engrossed in my research
work in those days. He sat in front of me as if awaiting my reply. I stayed in
silence for some time.
He repeated “Will you please help me to be initiated into sanyasa ?”
All of a sudden I replied, “No, not in the least, I will not.”
Startled, he asked, “Why, why not? Tell me what is wrong with me.”
I had been busy doing some drawings on a few yantras related to my
research work. Putting aside the pencil and eraser, I looked at him and
said, “You need an answer? Yes, here it is. You are very much attached to
your family, or addicted rather.”
He had never expected such a response.
“Of course you are a good sadhaka . Do it and keep going. But why do
you want to commit to something that is not possible for you at this
moment?” I said without any hesitation.
He le me without saying anything. I too le the city aer the completion
of my work which took a few months. For a long time I heard nothing
about him. When I visited the city about a year later, he came to meet me.
He was now in orange robes.
He said “You refused me sanyasa , yet I have obtained it. I was initiated
by . . .”. I congratulated him for his success in his mission of wearing saffron
robes.
“Nowadays where you are staying?” I asked with curiosity.
e reply was very discouraging.
“I constructed a room in the courtyard of my old house.”
“And bhiksha?” I enquired again.
“At the same house where I stayed before sanyasa . e children bring it
to me.”
Actually a sanyasi is not even supposed to go to the village where he was
born or where he grew up. He is not to receive bhiksha from any relatives.
But in this man’s case, the shastras had now become mute. I tried to
convince him that what he was doing was a sin, and asked him to go to
North India where thousands of sanyasis stay in ashrams. But his
attachment was so deep-rooted, that he was not in a position to even
imagine leaving the premises of his old house or family.
It seems he was unhappy with my comment on his state of sanyasa . He
le me in a bad mood. Aer a week or so I too le the city. By this time my
wanderings had come to an end. My thesis was complete, I had a doctorate
in Srividya, and was settled in an ashram made by my disciples in Jammu.
On one Guru Poornima, the same swamiji came to my ashram for a long
stay. I was happy that now at least he had le his caged life of attachments
to do peaceful saadhana in my ashram.
One day he came to me and said, “Guruji, I would like to leave this place.
My saadhana is getting disturbed by the crowd around you, as well by the
sounds of the microphone.”
My ashram being new, naturally there were daily satsang and bhajan
sessions and a crowd was around me always. But none of the other ashram
inmates had ever complained about it. He got ready to leave, and one of
my disciples informed me that he was heading back to his home.
In North India such type of sadhus are known as ‘fasali ’ (fasal means
crop or harvest), as they roam around ashrams and collect a lot of things
and money, and then return to their homes during harvest season. For
them every day is harvest time really, whether ashram or village. is
swamiji ’s case was also not much different, I thought.
Years passed. I was at another one of my ashrams in South India, where
my disciples had started a few social service activities such as rehabilitation
of poor children, or medical camps. I was busy writing my autobiography.
During one of the functions, the old swamiji came to meet me. He had
become very old and weak. e bloom on his face was gone.
“You look very weak”, I wondered aloud.
Now he narrated the pathetic story of his wife and children’s untimely
deaths, and about his stay now with his youngest son and family. He was
very unhappy with his present life.
“I could not adjust to any of the ashrams”, he said speaking of his
weakness.
at was true. He had lived free as a householder (in saffron robes) but
not as a sanyasi. e life of a sanyasi is structured differently. at was the
reason he had not been able to adjust to any ashram , even though the
Guruji who had initiated him into sanyasa was from a well-established
ashram . He requested me for some nancial assistance, and with the help
of a disciple I made sure that he received some amount.
Later, when I le all my established ashrams in North and South, freeing
myself with the intention of returning to the Himalayas, I was staying with
one of my disciples temporarily. is swamiji was back again. e son with
whom he had been staying until recently, had died in an accident. e
daughter-in-law and her two children were suffering a lot.
“ere is nobody to look aer them. So, I have to stay with them.”
I nodded my head aer hearing the story. Once again he requested,
“Guruji, I am badly in need of some money for the education of my
grandchildren.”
From where on earth could I, a sanyasi, bring money to help him! Of
course I had saved a small amount for my Himalayan journey. I told the
disciple with whom I was staying to give that amount to him. e swamiji
was happy. Before leaving he said, “Be always merciful to me like this.’’
at means he was expecting more nancial help from me in the future.
at night I wept in grief thinking of that old swami again and again.
What was in store for him next, and for how many more years would he
have to suffer like this, for his wrong doing—he was getting the payback for
his attachment and addiction, which a sanyasi should never ever keep.
 Spark 3

MERGED IN NATURE
ose were happy days in Jhadi. I used to stay on the Narmada sands and
go around the villages for my daily bhiksha . e villagers were primitive
tribals, dependent upon the forest and the Narmada for their existence.
Small parnasalas or thatched huts were used for shelter and the single
room functioned as kitchen, bedroom, and living room with no partitions.
e villagers seemed content with what they had, appeared pure in mind,
and wore only a single piece of cloth on their bodies, their children moving
around naked. Without any modern facility, they lived their life in nature
with all its pluses and minuses, and without any grievances. ere were no
schools in the forest and so they were illiterate, but they were god-loving.
I stayed in that forest for one month, subsisting upon whatever they
offered me. My saadhana during the nights went well, adding more value
and depth. Collecting a few dried logs from here and there, I would light a
camp re (dhuni ) at dusk daily and sit by it till midnight, or until sleep
overcame me.
As I possessed nothing valuable other than my kappar and kamandal, I
had no concern about thieves. ere was though, the danger of wild
animals visiting the river at night to quench their thirst. e re was helpful
in this regard, as it kept away the wild animals since they fear re.
But one night it did happen. I had been wandering in the forest the
whole day and was tired, and fell into a deep sleep shortly aer making the
camp re, lost to the surroundings. It may have been aer midnight that I
heard a roaring in the silence of the night. I woke up, but it was dark since
the camp re had gone off and nothing was visible around. In the dim light
of the stars in the sky, I could see that some animal was reaching for me.
For a second I thought it was a leopard or a jackal. With a ferocious roar, it
jumped upon me. My mind and body were almost paralyzed, but I shouted
‘Narmade Har’ and tried to jump into the Narmada. But the wild animal
had caught hold of my le leg. In spite of that, I managed to loosen the
grip and jump into neck-deep water. My body was shivering with fear and
from the coldness of the water. e animal reached into the water, looked
here and there, maybe for me, drank some water and le. I continued to
stay in the river shivering in the cold waters, in fear of encountering the
animal again on the shore.
It was almost dawn when I dragged my legs to the shore. My le leg was
hurting, from a large wound that was the prasad of that animal. I was
surprised to notice that there was no bleeding from the wound, perhaps
due to being in the water for a long time. But the pain was unbearable.
I walked to the nearby village and a bunch of villagers gathered around
me. I narrated to them the happenings of the previous night. One old man
came near and looked at the wound keenly and le. He returned in a little
while with some leaves in his hands, with which he made a paste and
applied to the wound. In just a few minutes I started to feel relief. A village
woman too brought me some hot black tea made from forest herbs and
salt. e experience had upset me and I now wanted to leave the forest.
e villagers told me that such incidents were not uncommon and they
took it quite lightly. I, however was not convinced with their logic.
So the next day I pulled out from the Jhadi and walked towards
Omkareswar with an intention to go to Kamakhya.
 Spark 4

EXPERIENCING ADHANAREESWARA
Kamakhya was crowded as it was a holiday. I walked from its railway
station to the temple situated on the top of the hills. Due to the crowds, I
avoided visiting the temple and climbed down the other side of the hill to
reach the bank of the Brahmaputra. It is one of the few rivers which has a
male name (the names translates to Son of Brahma). In the monsoon
season it rushes down, owing wildly in full ood but that day it was silent.
I wandered here and there in search of that Aghora yogini but she was not
to be seen. I knew her from a time long ago when I had stayed in Tinsukia.
I used to reach there on weekends and stay during nights for saadhana. I
had never tried to learn any other details about her, and regarded her as a
maternal gure, a guide and companion in my spiritual life. I sat there for a
long time hoping to meet her. I was hungry and sleepy from the long
journey and slipped into deep sleep.
“Oh! You are back!”
I woke up to the sound of these words. It was almost evening and I saw
the yogini mata sitting near me.
“Son, you have come back to me. In fact, I wanted to meet you before
leaving this body.”
“Maa, Swami Achutananda told me that you were remembering me so I
have rushed to you,” I murmured.
Age had taken a toll on her body, and it had become weak. Her eyes were
no more shining, and she was shivering. She had brought me some roti and
dal from her kutia .
“Son, eat this. ere is a lot that I want to talk to you.”
 I sat in mauna , eating slowly, and she continued, “I want to teach you a
different but important saadhana, you stay here with me and practice it and
nd the result here itself.”
By the time I nished eating, she had already started explaining in detail
about ‘aghor yogini saadhana ’ which she wanted me to do. She concluded
saying, “is saadhana has to be accomplished within twenty-seven days of
starting it, and aer that you may leave. I shall initiate you with the mantra
on the next asthami day.” I agreed to this. She added, “You need not worry
about your bhiksha. I will take care of it, you just concentrate upon the
saadhana.”
On ashtami day she initiated me as promised, but it was not as easy as I
thought. I use to do japa from sunset to sunrise and sleep during the
daytime. e yogini mata would sit by me till midnight every day,
observing my saadhana.
I was slowly making progress, but aer about twenty days beginning to
feel a little tired and weak. One day during my japa I saw a reddish light
appear in front of me and in no time it took the form of a woman. But
when I looked into that manifested form it was neither woman nor man. It
was the form of inseparable Shiva and Shakti (ardhanareeswara ). I got up
immediately and did pranaam to the form in front of me.
I heard a voice say, “What are doing this japa for?”
I replied, “For you. To have the experience of oneness with you.”
All of a sudden I felt my form take the form of a ame, like that of a pyre.
e ‘I’ was gone—my body, mind, intellect, consciousness were all lost. I
had become like a ame in a deepam , a small one and moving towards the
bigger one. I was not there but wondering who then was experiencing this
thing. It was just the ‘I’ now, the trine transformed into single. I
experienced the ‘I’ in a moment, when everything had disappeared.
I heard the voice of the yogini mata say, “Oh! You have got it. You got the
experience of ‘being’. Keep it up.”
On the day of the completion of the twenty-seven day saadhana, she
invited a few saadhaks to have prasadam. e yogini mata had herself
prepared rice, dal, curry, and sweet rice for all. She looked happy that I had
completed my saadhana successfully.
I told her, “Maa, I am tired. I would like to be with you for a week or so
for rest.”
 She agreed and took me to the Kamakhya temple for darshan. I could
easily see that her health was rapidly deteriorating. Most of the time she
was con ned to her bed, yet the japa on her lips was going effortlessly. I
cooked for both of us every day and fed and served her. It seemed like she
was happy in my company.
It was an amavasya day when I realized that her departing time was near.
Her body was shivering with weakness. I called a few sadhaks staying
nearby. She called me near and putting her hands on my head, took a few
deep breaths and tried to speak to me but the sound was feeble. I could
hear only the sound of ‘hreem ’. She caught my hands for a few moments,
and I felt as if some current was passing through. It was indeed, for my
body had become hot in a moment. Was it a shaktipat —was she
transferring her deposit of energy into me? I heard again the ‘hreem ’ sound
from her mouth. I saw her hands dropping from my hands and everything
was over within minutes. ere was a deep silence all around. I wept for a
long time, and the other sadhaks started consoling me. Together we carried
her body to the Brahmaputra, and gave her a jala samadhi .
I returned and sat in silence as if I had lost everything and was le in a
void. Aer leaving my Guruji Avadhoota Taramayee at Mookambika, this
aghora yogini had taken care of my saadhana. She was as good as my
Guruji, or rather was my Guruji herself in this form. One of the sadhaks
asked me to stay back in the kutia , but I was unwilling, feeling an
emptiness there without the mata.
I decided to leave Kamakhya. And the next day I took the train to go to
Haridwar.
 Spark 5

AT KANKHAL SMASHAAN
I am back in Haridwar aer a long time. As I had no plan in mind about
what I was going to do there, I wandered here and there and reached
Kankhal. I tried to nd accommodation at some ashram but did not
succeed because I did not know anybody there. I decided therefore to stay
at the Ganga ghats and found a place under a tree near the Kankhal
smashaan . In Haridwar, food is never a problem for a sadhu, but
accommodation is. I was happy though, with my stay under the tree.
For some time I sat near the Ganga, staring at her and then had a bath. I
collected my bhiksha from Anandamayee Ashram and slept under the tree
for a while.
“Are you not Nadananda?” e sadhu sitting near me spoke. I looked at
him blankly.
“Do you not remember me? I was with you when you were in
Devprayag,” he said.
Now my memory did a rewind. Yes, I could recall that he was the sadhu I
had initiated at Vyas Ghat and who had served me during my stay in
Devprayag.
“Sorry, since we are meeting aer a long time, I failed to recollect,” I
replied.
He was now staying at a kutia near the smashaan ghat (cremation
ground) at Kankhal. I felt neither happy nor unhappy at meeting him. I
kept myself neutral remembering his behavior which I had never liked. He
requested me to go with him and stay in his kutia.
“No, I am ne here and you need not worry about me,” I said. He le me
in a bad mood.
All day and night I sat under the tree doing nothing, leaving the tree only
to collect the bhiksha. But slowly sadhus and devotees started reaching me.
It was happening only because of that swami spreading the rumor that a
siddha from Narmada was staying near the smashaan ghat. Now because of
the visitors my solitude was getting disturbed and I wanted to leave, but
something was stopping me from doing so.
One day a sadhu living in the smashaan came in contact with me. Since
long, he had been at the smashaan doing tantra saadhana . He was from
Assam, a calm, quiet, and advanced sadhak known as Taranand
Brahmachari. I talked with him about my saadhana in Kashi, and he
wanted me to instruct him further in saadhana. I initiated him into shodasi
mahavidya .
Taranand had a good idea to restore my solitude.
“Just come and stay in the smashaan, no one will come and disturb you,
so please come along with me,” he said.
So I shied to stay under another big tree at the smashaan. ough in
those days I never knocked on the door of any ashram that imposed its
rules as conditions for stay, I still had to depend upon the ashrams for food.
I observed that Taranand never slept during the nights and was fully
involved in saadhana. One day he said, “Let us go to Tara peeth.”
I declined saying I was feeling quite blissful in that solitude. With no
visitors to disturb me, I was enjoying the seclusion. One day Taranand le
for his gurusthan as well. Now other than the occasionally arriving corpses,
I was all alone in that cremation ground.
Instead of simply wasting time, I wanted to continue my saadhana,
though not a purascharan . I opted to meditate for some more time. is
was the place where I perfected my meditation and of course remained in
ecstasy or in trance for long periods. In fact I felt reluctant even to collect
bhiksha because of the bliss state from the trance.
One day a sadhu, a longtime acquaintance, came to meet me. He was
born in Kerala, but staying in Saadhana Sadan to pursue his Vedanta
studies. He was known as Anand Saraswati and was full of ego of his
studies. He would quote Adi Sankaracharya for everything we talked
about, and fed me Vedanta, but I used to keep quiet as I wore no label of
being a Vedantin. He sarcastically dismissed my stay at the smashaan
grounds. With his sadistic nature he contaminated my equipoise. I lost my
temper and shouted at him,
“Mind your business, your way and mine are poles apart. I belong to the
Siddha Parampara . I am not a person like you, who eats from great
acharyas saying’s and vomits out the words he was never able to digest. You
people are merely ‘masters of mental masturbation’. So get lost.”
is incident had unfortunately kindled some negativity in me. I was
disturbed and made plans to move to Rishikesh in search of a more
secluded place.
I was happy to see Taranand return at night. I told him about my plans,
and that I had been disturbed by the so-called Vedantin.
He reassured me, “I will take care of it now. Nobody shall come and
disturb you anymore. Continue here.” So I stayed back. Now Tarananda
had taken the responsibility to collect my bhiksha too. My saadhana was
going result-oriented.
It was the rainy season, and the Ganga was in full spate of ood. One
morning I heard a shouting and screaming at the ghat. I rushed there to
discover Taranand caught right in the middle of the erce ow. e
situation was beyond anybody’s reach, and Taranand drowned. All were
standing there helplessly, witnessing the tragedy.
e next day we discovered his body in the nearby bushes and
resubmitted it to the Ganga as jala samadhi .
I stepped on to the road to Rishikesh, walking alone in an aimless and
mechanical sort of way, my mind in a state of distress.
 Spark 6

84 KUTIAS
Aer a long walk, exhausted and with aching legs, I reached Rishikesh. I
was not at all in the mood to go to Shivananda Ashram where I had stayed
during my earlier visits to Rishikesh. I crossed the Ganga by boat. At the
other bank too, I made no effort to search for accommodation in any
ashram. I simply sat on the ghat for some time.
‘Let Ganga Mayya decide my fate at Rishikesh’—I thought.
Aer bathing I went to Swargashram and collected my bhiksha. I sat
there on the ghats the whole day without any purpose, and without any
particular thoughts.
I felt like having some tea, but I had no money in hand, possessing
nothing except for my khappar and kamandal and a pair of clothes. I was
climbing up the steps of the ghat leading to a small congested road, when I
heard a voice call out -
“Nadanandji, just wait!” I looked around to see who it was, and oh, it was
a brahmachari from Karnataka who I had known from long before.
“Where were you all these days? You have been missing since long.”
I said nothing. He continued, “When did you reach here? Where is your
asan ?”
I briefed him about my stay at the Kankhal smashaan . He seemed happy
to meet me aer a long time. I told him that I needed a cup of tea and he
happily offered to get me one. While sipping tea at the roadside make-shi
tea stall, he talked about his stay at 84 Kutias.
is 84 Kutias Ashram was built by the well-known Maharshi Mahesh
Yogi for his disciples’ saadhana. For the last few years however, the ashram
was functioning below normal and facing closure. ere were many kutias
(huts) that had been constructed to accommodate one sadhak in one hut.
Each had an attached bath, was well-ventilated and situated ideally in the
middle of the forest. e huts were in the shape of shivalingas . Food for
the inmates was provided by the Ashram itself. is brahmachari had been
staying there for saadhana since long. He insisted me to go along with him
so he could arrange my accommodation there too.
We met the person in charge of the Ashram known as Satyananda Swami.
He spoke to me at length on Maharshi’s life and how the ashram activities
were going on. Swami said,
“I am pleased to offer you a spot here. We follow TM (Transcendental
Meditation) and happy to initiate you tomorrow.”
is is the system everywhere in India. ey initiate or introduce their
guru’s teachings or system of saadhana to the inmates. I had heard about
TM earlier. Swami gave me a book on TM and took me to a nice-looking
hut and opened it up.
“Now, this is your place for saadhana. Please keep the room and
surroundings clean and concentrate on your TM. I will initiate you
tomorrow.”
He seemed in a hurry to impart to me the TM techniques and le with
smile on his face.
It was almost evening. I was tired and a bit hungry too. e brahmachari
brought a broom and helped me clean the hut. I placed my belongings on
the wooden cot.
“Aer 7 pm, there will be a bell from the kitchen for dinner. I will come
and escort you there.”
en pointing to a building nearby, he continued,
“at is the kitchen and dining hall.” He le me.
I sat on the cot looking at Ganga.
“Oh Ganga Mayya, all this is due to your kripa ,” I murmured.
ere were no buildings near the kutia where I was put up. At a few
yards’ distance, there was another kutia.
e dinner was ne. I had rice, dal and curry. ere were only a few
there, about ve or six other inmates. I knew one among that group in the
dining hall, a Swami Viswanathanand. We had known each other since
long. He had been staying there for the last few years and was an advanced
TM practitioner. Aer dinner, this swami introduced me to the others.
I returned to my kutia . I had no bedspread or blanket to sleep. Covering
myself with one of my clothes I slept on the cot. I might have slept for a
while when I heard a knocking on the door. It was that brahmachari with a
pair of blankets in hand.
“I did not see any asan in your hand. is is for you. ese blankets are
unused. I received them in a bhandara last week. Now they are yours.”
is is the way of sadhus in North India. eir seva bhaav [serving
nature] to their brother sadhus is wonderful. I experienced this love and
affection from them (even from strangers) several times during my stay in
North India. e brahmachari spread the blanket on my cot and arranged
my asan for sleep. I wonder sometimes at the love poured on me by some
sadhus. It has been an unanswered question. Why—why do they love me?
Why do they do seva to me? Even though I have never loved them? I know
I have nothing with me to repay their love and affection. It was due to their
inherent natures that they were like this—it was perhaps my ignorance that
was not allowing me to experience it.
I was initiated into TM in the evening. Satyanand Swami briefed me
again like the previous day, but at length.
“Do not leave your kutia till you reach a goal in your saadhana.” I nodded
my head as if in agreement. In reality I had wanted to be somewhere safe
and secure. Now by the grace of my Guruji, I was getting a place to stay
where my food and other things were taken care of.
My days went well at 84 Kutias. Brahmachari and Viswanandanatha use
to sit with me for some time daily during the evenings on the bank of
Ganga. We would discuss upon spiritual matters, journeys to teerthas etc.
One of the sadhaks staying there was planning to go to his gurusthan aer
vacating his room. He came to me with his stove, tea leaves etc., and passed
them on to me.
“I am leaving for my Gurusthan. Keep these things with you and make
use of them. You may give them to any sadhak if you feel like leaving from
here.”
I decided to keep them. So far I had possessed nothing but slowly
samsara was now creeping in: rst it was the blankets, now the stove etc.,
what was next? I was perplexed. One day the food stock ended. I went to
purchase sugar etc., and was returning with a plastic bag in hand when all
of a sudden, a group of monkeys attacked me. One of the monkeys pulled
out my bag with sugar, and another one attacked me on the shoulder. A
person walking behind me came to my rescue and drove away the
monkeys. He took me back to the market, and got my wounds dressed.
is incident opened my eyes making me rethink on why I had now begun
living like a householder. Purchasing essentials, storing them and nding
ways to use them. I felt this type of life was against the nature of a sanyasi.
ose monkeys had reminded me about the essence and glory of
aparigraha .
“You give this stove to somebody. I don’t need it anymore. e way I was
heading towards is against a sanyasis life”, saying this I handed over the
things immediately to the brahmachari .
Once again I felt the bliss of leaving unwanted possessions.
TM saadhana was in good progress with encouraging results. Satyananda
Swami was off and on instructing me into the further steps of saadhana.
But the problem was the real core Srividya saadhana was getting lost in the
process. And a guilt consciousness had slowly started developing in me. It
was not possible to do both saadhanas together for they were poles apart.
Being thus in a dilemma for a few days, I nally discontinued TM and
decided to leave 84 Kutias. Viswanathananda gave me ve hundred rupees.
Satyananda swami did not want to let me go, but by an impulse from
within, I le 84 Kutis towards Omkareshwar to continue my saadhana.
 Spark 7

LOST IN NATURE
Instead of going to Omkareshwar, I changed my mind at reaching Indore,
and decided to go to Amarkantak.
Amarkantak is a small town near the Mekhala hills in Madhya Pradesh,
in dense forest and surrounded by small hills from where Ma Narmada
originates. is place is known as ‘Mayee ki bagiya ’ and is a pilgrim center
as well as a picnic spot. ere are a few ashrams, temples, and shops and
not much population making it a beautiful place to stay, relax, and do
saadhana. I tried in vain to nd accommodation in an ashram by the road.
While walking around in the manner of a stranger, I remembered being
told that there was a small ashram named Tureeyashram belonging to
Swami Ramanandji Maharaj of Omkareshwar. On enquiry, one of the
shopkeepers gave me directions to that ashram situated in ‘Mayee ki bagiya
’.
Swami Prakashanand was the kothari or person in charge of Tureeya
ashram. We had met at Omkareshwar previously. He happily granted me
permission to stay there. is small, but convenient, ashram was built by
Swami Anand Puri, a well-known scholar in Vedanta, a few years back and
was handed over to Ramanandji Maharaj recently.
Prakashanand was staying there all alone. He started cooking khichri for
the both of us. It is a food preparation popular among sadhus that is easy to
make, consisting of rice and dal mixed with salt and chilies, and
occasionally potatoes as well.
“Are you in parikrama ?” he asked.
“No. I came to stay for some time here, if you permit so,” I replied.
 My reply brought a smile to his face. He took me to the small room where
I was to stay, and we talked for some time about my various journeys and
also of his lonely stay there in that forest. He was of course, much older
than me. In his poorvashram , Prakashanand had been a school teacher
living with his family at Mortaka, near Omkareshwar. Aer his initiation
into sanyasa, he had been staying here at his Guruji’s orders for the past few
years, to take care of this ashram.
“Very rarely does someone come to stay here. e parikrama vasis do of
course visit, but only for a couple of days or so,” he said. He seemed a bit
unhappy at being there alone.
“It is a good thing. Nobody will disturb your saadhana,” I said.
He replied with silence.
“How many days would you like to be here?” he said breaking the
silence.
“Till you tell me to go away!” I said.
He laughingly replied, “Why should I ask you to leave? Be here always,
and for as many days as you choose.”
We talked for some more time. Now he was ready to go to bed and I was
tired too. e nights in Amarkantak are chilly. I just pulled my blanket over
my body and slept.
One day an old swamiji came to the ashram. He was a naishtik
brahmachari . He had brought a letter from my friend, the Baba at
Anandmayee Ashram in Indore. It was with a request to me to initiate the
bearer of the letter in Srividya. is new swami was a jolly type of person,
full of witty talk and jokes. He was also retired from service, and was doing
Gayatri saadhana since long. Aer initiation, I observed the he was fully
and sincerely engaged in saadhana, and was also doing seva to me every
day. e number of inmates were now three. We cooked together, ate
together and lived together happily.
By birth I have always loved nature. In my childhood and youth I was in
a village full of greenery. en aer meeting my Guruji, I stayed with
‘Amma’ in the forests of Mookambika on the banks of Sauparnika. Later
during my saadhana in the Himalayas most of my time was on the scenic
banks of Ganga, or later by the Narmada. So it was only natural that I
enjoyed the Mekhala hills and the forest. Amarkantak, in the deep woods
is full of greenery, with big trees and plenty of wildlife, very reminiscent of
my stay with my Guruji in the Mookambika forest. Every evening, I used to
walk around in the forests for some time. Not far from the ashram we
stayed, there was an adivasi or tribal village that I visited once or twice.
Even though the tribals were poor in terms of material possessions, they
were happy in that unpolluted life in the lap of nature. One of the tribal
families sold milk to our ashram, and a few of them prepared ‘Gulbakkavali
oil’ which is used for treatment in ailments of eyes. In all of India, this
‘Gulbakkavali’ plant is available only in this forest. ey sold it in that small
market to earn a few rupees to meet the day-to-day needs of their families.
at new naishtik brahmachari was showing good progress in his Srividya
saadhana. He stayed with us for a few more days and then le for Indore.
“I will be back in a few days,” he told me before his departure.
Prakashanand and I were again the only two living in the ashram. Almost
two or three happy months went by this way.
“Guruji . . . Guruji . . .” I heard the sound of somebody calling me. It was
late at night and the weather was chilly. I opened the door and lied up
the lantern to see who it was at this late hour. Oh! It was Mohi, one of my
disciples from Maharashtra. Somehow he had learned that I was staying
there, and came to meet me with his parents. Swamiji made some tea and
served it with biscuits, and made arrangements for their stay.
“Please come with me. I came to take you to my village. Let us do
saadhana there,” said Mohi.
A few years ago he too had been initiated by me into shakti saadhana.
When morning came, I took them around Amarkantak to a few temples, to
‘Mayee ki bagiya’ or the origin of Maa Narmada, and to a few ashrams. He
pressed me again and again to go with him. ey had come there by car
with plans to return to his village next day, along with me. Aer lunch we
were ready to move.
“When will you be back?” asked Prakashanand.
He had had my company for the last few months and had been most
happy. He never liked solitude, so felt depressed at my leaving.
“Let us hope very soon,” I replied.
With a smile he added, “Let it be in a week or so.”
Now it was Mohi’s turn to reply, “Not in the very near future. I am taking
Guruji along to live with me so I will be bene tted in my saadhana.”
e smile on Prakashanand’s face vanished.
 “Okay, Narmada mayee ki icha. Narmade Har!” he said.
I said my namaskars to Maa Narmada and the car started heading for the
main road in the direction of Chowl village near Alibagh, Maharashtra.
 Spark 8

IN THE NAME OF GENERATION GAP

I met him last during the book release function a few months ago. e
second part of my autobiography, ‘Roaring Silence’ was released on that
day. He looked very weak, and was walking with the help of a stick. Old
age and malnutrition were his main problems. Adding insult to injury he
had suffered a heart attack too a few years back.
I had known him for a long time. Even as early as youth, he had fought
against social injustice, and worked for the welfare of the downtrodden.
ough born and brought up in a well-known Vaishnav and zamindar
family, he was known for his work in the society. I used to visit him
whenever I happened to visit that area where he was settled. A few years
ago he had returned to his home in the village where he was living with his
son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren. We were very close friends and
shared similar views on social issues. In fact he was one among the elders
who had helped me realize that service to those who are suffering, is the
real form of pooja . I adopted this as the motto of my life, instead of sitting
for hours in meditation or japa , but a few of my disciples, friends, and
well-wishers looked at me with doubt. Some of them even le me, calling
me a communist. I never bothered about caste or creed, and accepted
bhiksha from anybody who served me with love and affection. is old
man’s impulses were very worthwhile and had made a positive impact in
my life.
I had seen his sufferings too. I was there with him at the time of his wife’s
funeral. He was very much upset, and that was only natural. He withdrew
from all his activities, con ned himself to his room, and stayed alone,
reading a few spiritual books or doing japa , dhyaan etc.
Once I was sitting with him and we were discussing details of some of my
work for the society. His daughter-in-law was rough in behavior. Even
though his son and daughter-in-law were ‘well-educated’ (the so-called
modern convent education that teaches how to discard moral values), and
well-placed in society, her behavior with this old man was not at all
positive. at pseudo-modern lady, with her latest modern out ts and
fashion, who lead a life of hypocrisy (which modern society applauds),
never bothered to take care of the needs of this old man. ere in his
house, I witnessed a pathetic scene. e old man was standing in front of
the kitchen with his plate and glass for collecting his lunch and the maid
servant served rice, curry and sambar onto his plate. He took the food to
his room and started eating it with tears in his eyes. Never had his son or
daughter-in-law sat down with him to eat a meal together. ey were
serving him food with aversion, but she served ‘pedigree’ food to their pet
dog with full ‘devotion’ as if she were offering naivedyam to God. In this
modern time of so called external development, and the pseudo-culture or
imposed westernization of convent education, dogs have more status than
parents or in-laws. Several times did I witness the abusive treatment by his
son and daughter in-law towards this old man. ey forgot that he had
lived like a king once and that he had given up his properties in the service
of his suffering fellow humans.
He was taking his lunch with tears in his eyes. I was in silence. His
grandson aged three or four years of age came in the room with a packet of
banana chips. While eating the chips, the boy offered one of it to his
grandfather. e old man also offered a little rice mixed with curry into the
tiny mouth of the child. Watching this, the daughter-in-law appeared in the
room shouting,
“What the hell are you doing? With that dirty unhygienic hand, you are
feeding my son!”
She kept on shouting for some time, which was unbearable. It looked like
she might slap the poor old man. He looked at me in tears, at the
humiliation in front of a friend. I too began shouting at that lady, rather
abusing her with rough words. Hearing this, his son arrived at the scene
too. I spoke to him,
 “Of what use is your nasty education? Be ashamed. What you are giving
now to your father, you will get back in the same coin!” He looked at me
with anger.
“is is our private family matter. Perhaps you are a friend of this old
man. Don’t interfere in our family matters. Get out!” He said.
At his yelling, I grew so angry that I felt I must kill this idiot who was
treating his father in such a despicable way. But, controlling my anger and
without saying a word, I just le the room without answering him.
My friend, the old man used to visit me now and then. Or I used to invite
him to the programs organized by our ashram. He would stay for a few
days whenever he came to me. But never did I visit that house again,
where he was being treated so cruelly.
“You be with me. I will take care of your needs. Like your son, never will
you be insulted by me or my disciples,” I told him once.
“Maybe he is a rough guy, but still my son. Even if he does not love me, I
love him,” he replied. I kept quiet.
“is may be because I had never bothered to serve my parents in my
youth. I was so involved in social activities and politics that I had no time to
look aer them. As my house was well-settled and there were servants, I
thought they would take care of them. Yes, it is only due to my mistake
that I am suffering now,” the old man concluded.
I told myself –‘karmana ghano gati ’ (the ways of karmas are very deep).
What you give, only that you get!
I met him last on the occasion of the release of my autobiography. Even
though he was walking with difficulty, he looked ne in appearance.
e life of this old man made me think about myself. Once during a
moment of leisure, I shared this incident with my spiritual brother Swami
Abhayanand. His perspective on this incident was different.
“Never mix dharma and karma . Both have their own ways. You have
studied the Upanishadic saying—‘Dharmo rakshati rakshita ’ meaning, ‘if
you can protect dharma , it will protect you.’ Never involve yourself too
much in such things.”
Yes, I was looking at the incident through educational values. I thought
that I need not contemplate anymore on such happenings. Let ‘time’ or
niyathi take its own decision.
 Spark 9

SPIRITUALITY OF SWARNA BHASMA

I had known him from the time of joining the group of wandering sanyasis.
In Northern India, groups of sadhus and sanyasis travel by foot and stay a
few days in selected villages at the invitation of devotees.
A senior sanyasi was the head of this group and his devotees made
arrangements for the stay, food, and satsangs. He was a young man, known
for his total detachment from external things like money or material
possessions. I joined that group along with one of my friends, another
swami. is young sanyasi was in charge of the daily pooja and arathi
ceremonies in a makeshi temple of Shiva that the group carried along with
them in a truck or tractor.
In a short time, the young sanyasi and I became very close friends. He
had become famous among the sadhus in the group, as well as among
devotees for his virakti or aparigraham , a type of non-attachment practiced
by sanyasis. We ate together, and talked for hours on matters of saadhana.
Like me, he too was fond of rice, curd and green chilies in bhiksha. We
followed the strict discipline of the group and walked along with other
sadhus all over North India, especially in different villages in Punjab.
Aer several months, I le this group to travel alone to selected pilgrim
centers. Upon my return aer a few years, I met a few of the sadhus at
Haridwar who I had known from that group. ey were returning to the
group, and I too planned to return with them. By this time the senior
swamiji who had been the head of the group passed away tragically due to
snakebite. Now the young sanyasi, who was my friend had taken charge of
the group. With more devotees and more facilities, the group was enjoying
and passing time without any proper saadhana. ey were stationed at
Dehradun when I returned to them. Of course my old friend welcomed
me, but I could easily discern the drastic change that had occurred in him.
He had travelled the length and breadth of India with his group, even
staying in metropolitan cities for long periods, from where he had
generated a good amount of funds too. e notable change in him was that
he had developed ‘ego’ and lost the simplicity of his old lifestyle. It seemed
as if he had forgotten the friendship we shared and did not bother to sit
down with me for some time to talk on saadhana, like in the old days. e
dealings with the members of the group was also quite mechanical and
hypocritical.
I felt terrible at seeing this type of change in him, but continued to stay
with the group in hope that an opportunity would present itself when I
would be able to talk to him, and bring him back to his original nature. But
it was looking unlikely as he was spending most of his time with his own
devotees, especially ladies. His behavior with them was not at all
appropriate for a sanyasi. But he needed the sanyasi group with him as a
‘mask’ or cover for his earning money. is bunch of sycophants that he
kept close, would ‘butter’ him and close their eyes to all his wrongdoings.
I was sure that my relationship with him was deteriorating. ose days his
food was specially cooked for him, and he also started staying a little away
from the group, if possible in a separate room. ough I tried to reach out
to him twice or thrice, my words of upadesha were ignored.
He travelled a lot, and of course by foot, but a few vehicles followed with
essentials. e group also walked along with him. I too was in the group.
He started avoiding me but perhaps because of being old acquaintances, he
never told me to leave. I myself now wanted to quit the group in my own
interest, witnessing his attachment to kamini and kanchan (women and
wealth). e original concept of sanyasi life was broken and he was living as
a pseudo sanyasi, with external show only.
I le his group in a disturbed frame of mind, having failed to bring him
back to his previous life.
He had transformed into a different person now, with thousands of
devotees, and collected a lot of money. e present generation is going aer
such hypocrites who suck blood in the name of spirituality. Such so-called
gurus not only give nothing to society but take a lot, in fact loot a lot, and
not merely for their survival. ey are earning a lot of wealth and making
bank deposits in their relatives’ names. He wanted to falsely represent
himself as a ‘non-attached’ or virakta, but I had uncovered the truth. His
food was being prepared separately in the name of upavas or special fasting
food. Since he was getting old, he had started taking swarna bhasma (an
anti-aging ayurvedic medicine) which was very expensive. e number of
sadhus in the group was reducing, and he had also started behaving
roughly with the devotees from whom he earned a lot.
He nally returned to his native village, and opened up a posh ashram
with all modern facilities, forgetting the roads he had travelled so far. He
was awarded a high position in the society of sanyasis, and even known as a
‘great aacharya’ but in reality he was one who didn’t even know about
aacharana, or proper conduct.
It is not due to any envy for his so-called external development as a
millionaire, that I am writing this episode, but just to tell devotees in the
path of spiritualism to be aware and beware of such foul elements in
society, so spirituality can be kept pure, or rather be saved from pollution.
In the present generation, we can see such people actually being
worshipped as ‘bhagavaan ’, but those of us in the path of spirituality who
have the misfortune to witness such incidents consider ourselves as
‘daurbhaagyavaan ’.
 Spark 10

LIVING IN VOIDNESS
I was suffering from depression in those days. e symptoms had
developed slowly to the point that sometimes I felt I should either run
away from where I had been staying for a long time, or commit suicide.
Aer consulting with a doctor, he cautioned some of my disciples not to
leave me alone even for a moment. at doctor started me on a few high-
dose medicines which made my body swell up. I used to keep to myself
most of the time, shedding tears for unknown reasons. Sometimes I even
got violent and was afraid if anybody entered my room.
A few months earlier, one of my disciples had suffered badly and with the
same symptoms. I had done a few poojas for his recovery and that disciple
was now back normal, but his symptoms were now appearing in me. A few
months passed thus with deep suffering from hallucinatory dreams, violent
thoughts, suicidal feelings etc. Once I felt that I was returning to normalcy,
I thought of going to Kashi for a change. I informed my friend
Ramakrishnanand, who was then in charge of Shankar Mutt at Kedarghat,
about my present condition and my need for his assistance for
accommodation and food at the Kedarghat Mutt.
e stay at Shankar Mutt was ne, and my friend took care of my needs.
Every day he would take me for a walk on the Ganga banks and we would
sit for hours together at Harishchandra ghat. I expected that there would
be a speedy recovery due to the change in climate and scene. But it was not
as I thought. e symptoms started aggravating. My days and nights were
so bad with so much mental and physical suffering that I felt I was not in a
position to bear anymore for even a minute. Some unknown fear developed
in me and I wanted to run away from Kashi to somewhere else. I was not
eating or sleeping properly and my health was deteriorating day by day. e
body began swelling again. Sharmaji and Lata from Samalkha came down
to Kashi aer hearing of my bad condition. ey stayed with me for a
couple of days at the Mutt where I was staying. I was paranoid about
allowing them to go for a bath in Ganga as I was afraid that they might
drown. When they did go, I sat at the ghat in deep fear, such were my
hallucinations. Sharmaji was worried about what to do next. He took me to
Samalkha aer two days’ stay at Kashi.
Sharmaji arranged for my treatments at Samalkha. He consulted a
homeopathic doctor and started medication. Slowly I began returning to
normalcy. e homeopathic medicines had worked very well and in a few
days I started eating and sleeping properly, yet the swelling of body had not
reduced. A few more weeks of medication produced results. Now I thought
I had almost recovered and wanted to leave for Kurnool.
I was back in Kurnool, aer two or three months stay outside. All were
happy that I was better now.
 Spark 11

RETURN OF VOIDNESS
e happiness and relief at my recovery from the present illness of
depression was not long standing. Following the advice of the doctors, I
had discontinued the medications, but in a week or so the same symptoms
returned. is time though the symptoms were not violent, I was still in the
melancholic state. I wept a lot whenever I happened to be alone in my
room. My disciples used to try to make sure that I was not le alone, and
someone used to be with me always. e fear complex had developed in
me once again and I wanted to leave Kurnool. I preferred Kashi as I felt I
could be in the good company of my friend Ramakrishnanand at
Kedarghat Mutt.
With all love and affection, he scolded me gently for leaving Kashi before
I had fully recovered. It was summer, and without moving out, I continued
staying with him at the Mutt. e depression symptoms continued to linger.
I used to do ‘namah shivaya ’ japa most of the time, sitting alone in the
room. We both would take evening walks everyday on the ghats of Ganga
and sit at Harishchandra ghat for a long time, just like in my previous visits.
e problem of depression was only increasing day by day. Sleepless days
made me more restless, and food consumption had become very low. My
body started swelling once again and grew weaker. Once again I felt I must
run away from the Mutt. One ne morning without telling anybody, not
even my friend Ramakrishnand, I le the Mutt. I le all my belongings like
clothes, pooja books, Sri Yantra , bhiksha patra there, and taking just my
purse and cell phone I le the Mutt and reached the bus stand. I heard the
voice of the conductor of a bus call out, “Lucknow, Lucknow” and got in
the bus mechanically. e journey was long and by sunset I reached
Lucknow bus stand. With the help of the conductor I purchased a ticket to
Haridwar on the night bus. I spent another sleepless night in the bus
worrying at what was happening to me. In the middle of the journey from
Lucknow, I called Ramakrishnanand at Kashi from my cell phone and told
him that I was leaving for the unknown.
“I have never seen a fool like you! At least you should have told me
before leaving,” Ramakrishnand shouted. I was not in a mood to apologize
to him. By early morning I had reached the Haridwar bus stand and made
a phone call to my spiritual brother Abhayanand, saying that I wanted to
meet him. He was in Rishikesh those days, and asked me join him there.
All of a sudden the sound of another bus conductor was heard. He was
calling “Sonepat . . . Sonepat . . . .” I went near him and asked whether that
bus’ route was via Samalkha.
“Yes Maharaj, be seated. e bus is about to leave,” the bus conductor
told me.
Once again I called Abhayanand and told that I was heading towards
Samalkha. He sensed that there was something wrong with me. en I told
him of my present condition. Another call was made to Sharmaji at
Samalkha that I was coming to him and to meet me at the bus stand.
“My health is not all good. Be at the Samalkha bus stand. I do not know
where I will go! I am very much upset mentally,” I told Sharmaji over my
cell phone.
By aernoon, I had reached Samalkha. Sharmaji was waiting at the bus
stand. He took me to my room adjoining the courtyard of his residence.
Everybody at Sharmaji’s home was worried about my pathetic health
condition.
In a couple of days Abhayanand came to Samalkha. At his suggestion I
started on some Ayurvedic medicines. He asked me to go with him to
Himachal which he thought might change my mood. We went to Himachal
Pradesh to meet the ashrams of some sadhus we knew. For one or two
weeks we were together in Himachal and Punjab. By this time, there were
notable improvements in my health. Abhayanand brought me back to
Samalkha. He stayed with me for a couple of days and then le for
Rishikesh.
I stayed back in Samalkha for some more time. I was almost better and
wanted to go to Kurnool. Sharmaji came with me up to Kurnool. By this
time the insomnia problem had reduced and I had started eating and
sleeping properly. But the medicines were to be continued for a long time
for full recovery so as to not to have a relapse of the symptoms again.
 Spark 12

TO AND FRO
I was returning to Ramnagar ashram aer ten years. Sharmaji and family
were with me. We reached a day before Shivaratri . It was our desire to visit
the ashram as I came up to Samalkha. We engaged a car for three days and
reached there. e reception was encouraging. A lot of devotees and
disciples had assembled there to receive me. Omkaranand was already
there. All were awaiting my arrival with garlands, owers, arathi and
sweets in their hands. Aer I had darshan in the temples of Maa, Shiv,
Hanuman, Radha, Krishna etc., inside the ashram known as Srividya
Gyana Peetham established by me with the nancial help of my devotees
from all over India a few years ago, I simply sat down with my devotees for
some time in the open courtyard, talking about their wellbeing. Everybody
complained that my absence had been painful for them. One of the
devotees asked me,
“You took more than nine years to return to the ashram. It is unworthy of
you to keep us waiting for such a long time. As a guru, how can you forget
our love and affection towards you?”
I told them, “A lot of water has owed down the Ravi in the last ten
years. It never returns. A guru is also like that. You have to make use of the
water in the Ravi when it is there. So with the Guru too. Make use of his
presence for the progress of your saadhana.”
I too was aware that my absence in Ramnagar ashram had indeed been
for too long. In fact my mindset was different. I had never liked the inner
politics of the devotees. e ego-driven politics had harmed the ashram
and its atmosphere earlier too. at was the reason for my leaving the
ashram twelve years earlier, and handing over the charges of the ashram to
my sanyasi disciple Swami Omkarananda, declaring him as my successor to
that ashram known as ‘Srividya Gyana Peedham’. For the past twelve years
he had been looking aer the activities of the ashram with the help of the
devotees in the village. On and off my spiritual brother Abhayananda
would visit the ashram to conduct a few satsang sessions.
I was certain that there would not have been much change in the
attitudes of the devotees, or in the governing body of the ashram either
which I had set up before leaving Ramnagar. e so-called ‘ego’ of certain
people was the main hurdle for the development of the ashram. I had
always disliked this, since the activities of these negative elements were
damaging the purity, serenity and calm atmosphere of the ashram.
Secondly, I had been busy completing my work on Srividya (my thesis on
Srividya for doctorate) and writing my autobiography for the past eight
years. A few phone calls would brief me with updates on the ashram’s
functioning. ough I was informed that a few more temples had been
added, and the grounds cemented, I felt that all the progress was only at an
external level. What about the progress in saadhana, which I initiated to
the disciples there? It was almost at a big zero, I knew.
Finally due to the insistence of a few devotees, I had reached there now.
My spiritual brother Abhayananda had also been putting pressure on me to
visit that ashram at least once.
“It will boost the mood of the devotees who are totally dedicated to you,
as well as to the ashram. Just visit there once, and I too will join you,” he
had told me. at was the only reason for my presence there that Shivaratri
.
e Shivaratri program was well-organized with four poojas at night.
During the satsang that night, I spoke to them:
“When the Ravi is in ood every year, the whole village goes to the banks
to witness it. But if the ood was a scene visible all year long, nobody will
care to go and view it. at is exactly what is going on here too. I have
come aer ten years, and you are all present here. But if I choose to stay
back here for a long time, it will be as it was. So, better that I visit you all
only aer the gap of a long time.”
In fact, this was really my response to the pressure for staying back at the
ashram. To be frank, my love was not for the bricks and cement, even
though I had collected them to construct the ashram. I was always
affectionate with my devotees and taking care of their needs in the spiritual
as well as materialistic worlds. During the Shivaratri function too, I could
smell the mean politics among the devotees. Some of them felt the Guru
was their own, and not for others. A feeling of possessiveness had
developed in some, and they thought the Guru must obey their decisions.
ey were pressuring me to be with them, or were surrounding me most of
the time, during my three days’ stay there.
e next day, aer Shivaratri, there was a bhandara (common feeding)
arranged by the ashram devotees. I wanted to leave the ashram as early as
possible, as the behavior of some of the devotees was suffocating me. In the
morning there was Shiva Pooja and a havan , and then there was lunch.
“You seem to be very busy. Now that your lunch is over, you may leave if
you so desire.”
is remark by one of the senior disciples, who was in charge of looking
aer the ashram, stabbed somewhere in the core of my heart. Did he mean
for me to ‘get lost’? I am not sure, but I sensed he was implying that.
Sharmaji gave him a be tting answer, using some choice proverbs.
We prepared to return immediately. A few of them were deeply unhappy
during the moments of farewell. I called Abhayanandji and told him,
“It is due only to your pressuring that I have visited the Ramnagar
ashram. Now I am returning with some bitterness in mind. It is clearly
evident that they have still not been able to understand their Guruji well. I
am seeing more than ve in-groups functioning here, none of them happy
in the presence of the other. So once again I bid goodbye to this ashram.
Please do not ever ask me to return here.”
Yes, it was true—each group was unable to tolerate the presence of the
other. ese factions had not existed a few years ago when I was living
there. Even though they were just starting to function at that time, it was
not possible for them to come out as openly as they were doing now. But
was that my doing? Or someone else’s?
 Spark 13

IN SEARCH OF MY ROOTS
is was my third stay in Gangotri. A swami I knew had arranged
accommodation at his ashram, newly built for the service of pilgrims
visiting Gangotri. Being tired from the long walk from Rishikesh to
Gangotri by foot, I preferred to rest in my room for a couple of days. Every
time I traveled by foot in those Himalayan hills, I reveled in the natural
beauty of those serene, calm and quiet hills. Looking out through the tiny
window of the room, I was again enjoying the beauty of those snow-clad
hills.
In my childhood I had heard stories of Himalayan hills from the elders.
e origin of the Namboothiri clan in Kerala is said to be a village named
‘Kalap’. ere is a legend among the Namboothiris that on their arrival from
the Himalayan hills to ‘Bhargava kshetra ’ (known as Kerala later), Rishi
Parashurama had to cut off the head of his own mother Renuka at the
order of his father Jamadagni. As a result, Parashurama was afflicted with
the sin or paapa of brahma hatya . Rishi Narada told him,
“To atone for the sin, locate an unused piece of land on earth and give it
as daanam or donation to brahmanas .”
Parashurama wandered here and there on earth to locate such a piece of
land. But it was not possible, as the entire land area was being used by
someone for one purpose or the other. Now Parashuram requested the God
of the Ocean to retreat a little and give him some land for the purpose of
donation. But the God of the Ocean declined. In rage, Parashurama dried
up a part of the ocean with his tapa shakti and threw his parasu or axe in.
e region from where the land emerged from ocean came to be known as
Bhargava kshetra . Bhargava is another name for Parashurama. Now with
the land is in his hands, he wandered here and there in search of
brahmanas . ey were everywhere, but the concept of a true ‘brahmana ’
is one who is a brahmagyaani (brahmagyanethi brahmana —one who has
personal experience of the ultimate reality). Narada rishi appeared again
with advice,
“Go to the Himalayas. ere is a village there known as Kalap which is
not too far from Gangotri. All the villagers there are true brahmanas or
brahmagyaanis .”
“But how can I con rm that they are indeed brahmagyaanis ?”
Parashuram asked.
Narada replied, “at is easy. Even a small boy of ve or six years age can
converse with you about ‘brahma tatva ’. at can only happen in the
village Kalap for which you are searching.”
Parashurama had to do a lot of searching but was nally successful in his
mission and located the village Kalap, and at his request the 108 brahmana
families living there came down and accepted the land as daanam .
Parashuram divided up the land among them before donating. Aer
accepting Bhargava kshetra as their own, they asked him,
“You have brought us down from our state of ‘brahmagyaana ’. Now tell
us through which upasana or spiritual practice we can regain that state of
brahmagyaana .”
Parashurama constructed 108 Shakthi temples in that divided land and
told them,
“Do Shakthi upasana . Try to realize Parabrahma through Shakthi .”
Parashurama then returned to the Mahendra hills for doing tapas . e
Kerala Namboothiris are basically ‘Shaakthas ’ with initiations into the
Shaakteya Maarga . But most of those temples went into oblivion and some
of the Namboothiris adopted different systems of upasana . Even today, a
few of those temples can be seen in Kerala, and some branches of the
Namboothiri clan continue to do Shakthi upasana as Parashurama
prescribed. Srividya in Kerala belongs to that tradition.
I was musing on this legend, as I lay on the bed in the ashram room in
Gangotri. Slowly an idea grew in my mind. Why am I not going in search of
my roots in the village of Kalap, if at all it exists now?
e next day I made enquiries about Kalap with some old villagers settled
in Gangotri, but in vain. I continued my search and one day, maybe aer
three or four days of enquiry, an old man who was a priest in Gangotri
temple, said,
“Yes maharaj, there is indeed a village known as Kalap. I have heard my
grandfather talk about it. I think it is somewhere up ahead from the village
of Nilang. I do not know the exact location as I never visited that village.”
I decided to go to Nilang village which was a bit further up from
Gangotri. e road was ne and I walked a few days to reach there. e
scenery en-route was lovely with the picturesque beauty of unpolluted
nature. As I failed to locate any village nearby, it was very difficult to get
some food on the way. It will be a wonder if you happen to see any
teashops at this high altitude area. I had with me a few rotis and sabji but
those I had nished the previous day itself. Now I had only had water from
the small waterfalls in the hills which were plentiful. Even though I was
tired from the continuous walking without food, and uncomfortable sleep
on the path, my mind was made up. I had to reach the village I was in
search of.
Finally it looked like I had reached a village. At a short distance I could
see a small village on top of the hills. Such was my eagerness to trace the
roots of my lineage that I felt like running to my destination.
But in the Himalayas, distances are deceptive, and one may think a
village very near but only when one starts walking towards it, realizes how
far it really is. Before sunset I nally reached the village.
“Is this Kalap village?” I asked a woman standing just in front of the rst
house in the village. She nodded and went inside the house ignoring my
presence. I walked a few yards more to sit under a small tree, probably a
bhojapatra tree, and looked around at another small house near. A young
man came out of this house and approached me uneasily, probably a
response to the rare presence of a stranger. is is always the case with the
villagers in the Himalayan hills. ey are suspicious of any stranger at rst
sight, but once they give their trust, it is forever.
“I have come from Kerala on a pilgrimage to Gangotri. I thought of
visiting this Kalap village as my ancestors are from here,” I told him.
He appeared surprised at my words. He invited me to his home which
was the third or fourth one from the entrance of the village. In fact it was a
small village of only some ten or een houses. I sat in front of his house.
Tea was served, and I felt as if I was drinking nectar. By this time a few
men and women and some children had appeared and they sat in front of
me.
“I am hungry, and have not eaten for the last two days. Will you please--
-?”
My sentence was interrupted as one of the ladies said,
“Maharaj, in just a moment I will bring you roti. ”
She went to her house to bring it. A few minutes later I was being served
with two rotis made of cholai (corn) and curry made of potato. Of course
the curry was full of chilies, but the villagers eat this type of spicy food to
keep warm in the snowclad hills. e temperatures at those high altitudes
run subzero. I was enjoying the food served, and observed while eating
that the number of people around me had grown to around twenty or
thirty now. I narrated the purpose of my coming to their village.
“We all are Brahmans,” one of the old men said. Now they started feeling
that I was one among them. I was not familiar with their language but
recognized a few Garhwali words that I had picked up during my stay at
Dehradun. I tried to use the words in my conversation in Hindi with them.
ey liked that, and it is quite natural that locals enjoy it when strangers
attempt to speak their language, even with mistakes.
It was almost dark and the village syana (head of village) arranged for my
stay at his house. Even though it was a small one, the house was neat and
clean. at old man, his wife, daughter-in-law and two grandchildren were
living there. e son was working somewhere in Dehradun.
“He comes here only once a year,” the old man told me. He was unhappy
that his only son had to leave the village to stay in the town.
“Town life pollutes the people moving down from the villages located in
the high altitudes. e people here are very innocent and generous,” the
old man said with a different expression on his face. He told me there were
no basic facilities like a medical dispensary or school and one had to walk
up to Nilang for needs.
“So our children and grandchildren are illiterate and have received no
education at all other than what we have taught them, which we in turn
learned from our parents.”
Even aer so many years have passed since India’s independence from the
British, basic needs of citizens are yet to reach the remote villages of the
Himalayas, or in the forests of the Narmada. is is one face of India. And
the other face is of the so-called English education imposed by Christian
missionaries which has polluted the culture of Bharat .
“Are these the last villages of Hindustan? Are we near the Tibet border?”
I asked that old man.
“Yes, of course, we are near the border. But there are two or three more
villages a little further up from here, closer to Tibet,” he replied. Usually
these people con ne themselves to their own villages, straying only as far as
the nearby forest. ey connect with other villages only when they have to
go there to attend a marriage or something.
“Oh! What are they, the names of those villages?” I queried again.
“Naga, Jadung, Angar . . . all are small villages like ours,” the old man
continued. But I was drowsy and stopped talking, and fell asleep.
I woke up a bit late next morning. e sun was up and shining. It had
been extremely cold at night. Covering my body with the blanket offered by
the old man at night, I sat under the sun in front of the house. e old
man’s wife offered me some black tea. By that time the villagers whom I
met the previous evening assembled again. Some of them asked me to
repeat the story of my ancestors of that village. I told them the story of
Parashurama and how he brought the Brahmins of Kalap to Kerala. Now
they started feeling a kinship with me, and I too had the feeling of a
homecoming.
“Stay with us for few days,” one of them said. But I wanted to return to
Gangotri. e mission had been successful. I stayed back at the village for a
couple of days, telling them stories of my journeys, and other matters. One
of the villagers told me,
“I too was planning to go down to Dehradun. We both can go together.”
I agreed as a companion on a long journey is always a good idea.
We started the return, moving on foot only. ere was no bus service to
that area.
“Only rarely do buses come up to Nilang,” he said. He was carrying roti
and sabji for our journey. So though I wasn’t starving like the last time, the
villager walked at a very fast pace. e inhabitants of that area are used to
walking at speed up the hills. Sometimes he opted for a few shortcuts,
climbing up and down those snowclad hills, which was not at all easy for
me. During the nights we stayed either by the road side or in a village
known to him. On the evening of the second day, we reached a village
from where buses were available to Uttarkashi. I bid farewell to the villager
who had been in my company the last two days and resumed my journey
on foot. In a carefree mood I walked towards Gangotri and reached aer a
couple of days.
As I had vacated the room in the ashram, it had already been given to
some other pilgrims. It was difficult to nd another room as the ashrams
were fully packed due to pilgrimage season.
I decided to return to Uttarkashi.
 Spark 14

CHALLENGE TO TAPA SHAKTI

I had just returned from the balloon angioplasty surgery for my heart
problems at Sai Baba’s hospital in Puttaparthi. en for one month I went to
stay in Hyderabad at a disciple’s residence, in order to recuperate. Even
though I had not fully recovered, I decided again to travel to Samalkha to
stay and rest at Sharmaji’s place. I stayed there for more than two months
before going to the Ramnagar ashram. Sharmaji and family took care of my
needs as much as they could.
One of the swamijis of my acquaintance hailing from Kerala, hearing of
my ailments, visited me during those days. He pretended to be a siddha
even though he possessed nothing on account of saadhana. I was unable to
lay down due to respiratory problems which I suffered from in addition to
the cardiac issues, and had to rest on an easy chair for months together,
with the support of a few pillows. Sharmaji and other disciples had a tough
time taking care of me. One day this swamiji said,
“I can stop this electric fan that is running in this room in just one
moment with a look.”
A few of my disciples were sitting around me. is swamiji stared at the
fan for a few moments and of course, it stopped moving. I merely laughed
at this, and I too looked at the fan for a few moments, and resumed its
running as before. My disciples were struck at all this. en I told them a
story, in front of that swamiji, with the intention of puncturing his ego.
“Once a siddha arrived at Sri Ramakrishna Paramahamsa and boasted
about his siddhis . He was claiming that he could walk on the Ganga and
reach the other shore. He demonstrated this as well. Ramakrishna simply
took a country boat to do the same act of crossing. en he asked the so-
called siddha swami ,
“How much time did it take you to master this?”
“Twelve years,” the siddha swami replied.
“I crossed Ganga by paying just one ana to the boatman. To do what you
could have achieved easily with one ana , you have wasted the siddhi that
took twelve years to accumulate,” said Sri Ramakrishna.
My disciples laughed at hearing this story. Siddhis are not for exhibiting or
making money. ey are to be used for the welfare of deserving suffering
people and the Almighty will shower blessings in turn. But in the present
time, a few of the so-called sadhus attain certain siddhis, and use them to
earn a lot from ignorant devotees and live a posh life, which in turn will
turn such siddhas into beggars in subsequent births.
e days passed in intense suffering. I was pessimistic about my chances
of survival. But the service rendered by Sharmaji and family helped me
come out of the deep waters.
On one day the disciples had planned a keerthan Sandhya ( evening
recital) and satsang at Sharmaji’s residence. It was evening time and they
had arranged a vedi or altar for satsang with pictures, deepam , and
decorated with owers. Many devotees had assembled to attend the
satsang and keertan when all of a sudden dark clouds appeared in the sky
and there were peals of thunder. Looking at this, everyone’s moods too
went dark. I was in my room and Sharmaji came to say,
“Let us cancel this program. It is going to rain heavily. See the sky.”
I just looked out to see all the people sitting there to attend the satsang.
e keertan had already started.
“Let it continue. Nothing will happen. No rain will disturb us till the
program concludes,” I told Sharmaji.
I knew that he believed and trusted in me. I sat alone for a while in the
room and prayed to my Guruji to keep up my reputation (izzat ). It
worked. My Guruji has always done favors to me, supporting me in all my
altruistic acts.
e satsang continued and concluded with my lecture at around ten that
night. Nothing happened. But as soon as the prasad distribution was over it
began to rain heavily. It was difficult for my devotees to return to their
homes. e rain showers continued all night long.
 e so-called siddha swami was also present there.
“How did you manage to stop the rain?” he asked.
“I have done nothing. I have no siddhis like you. But my Guruji can do
wonders. I just prayed to her to save my izzat and she did it. It was all guru
kripa .”
My reply was very casual.
“No, no! I will never believe this explanation. You have some siddhis to
control Nature. You might have mastered the control of the panchabhootas
.
I kept silent. But he was eying me with envy. He wanted to dig out details
of what exactly had happened. I never bothered to offer any further
explanation to him.
A few days aer this incident, I le for the Ramnagar ashram.
 Spark 15

IN SEARCH OF MY OWN FACE

I was returning to that village aer a long gap. A few years ago, I had stayed
there for some time. Most of the villagers would attend my lectures on
spiritual values, and shared their pleasures and pains with me. Now I was
back again.
I stood at the gate facing the village road which lead to the main road
which would take you to the city. It was winter and the mornings were
chilly. For hours together I stood at the gate. Not a single familiar face was
seen. Time passes at its own pace. Children become youth and youth grow
old. I was wondering where they had gone. Not a single known face was
passing in front of me through that road.
An old man passed on his bicycle. Yes, I know him, I thought. e face
was familiar. At the gate he stopped for a while, glanced at my face and
moved off as if I were a stranger. I too wondered for a second if I should
call him or not. But by that time he had moved off on the bicycle.
It was a day in January, the peak of winter. I felt that simply standing
there and staring at the moving people had no meaning. Why should I
stand here? e answer was there.
“You are in search of a familiar face,” I told myself.
“For what,” I asked me.
ere was no answer. I just stood there for a long time. Slowly the fog
withdrew and the sun that came out looked at me as if he was also a
stranger.
“Yes, we are strangers to our self. What do we know about ourselves
really? About the family lineage? About the anatomy of the body? About
the earnings? About the so-called friends?” A lot of questions erupted in
the mind.
I just spotted him, an old man hobbling on the road with the help of a
broken walking stick. I knew him very well. Once we had lunch together at
his residence. He had been very close to me previously. He had visited me
and we had had lots of talks on spiritual matters. Now time had changed
his appearance. He looked old, lethargic, tired, and helpless. I wanted to
talk to him.
“Hi, just wait!” I called out to him.
He looked around for the source of the sound. He stopped and stared at
me.
“Are you not remembering me?” I asked. He looked at my face once again
and shook his head.
“But I remember you. Time has changed you and me! at is why you
are not recognizing me,” I said trying to explain.
Once again he showed no recognition. But he tried to submit a smile. It
was a dry kind of smile, lifeless, empty, and tired, as if he were trying to
smile for a smile. I too smiled as if I was his best friend.
He moved away slowly with shivering legs and pale face.
“Where I have lost this face?” I asked myself. e answer was a deep
silence. I could see he had walked a few yards beyond me.
A cart came at speed. It was pulled by a single, dark, dirty looking buffalo.
e cart man was also in a black dhoti and shawl. e buffalo cart stopped
just near the old man. e cart man helped him into the cart.
Looking back at me the old man asked,
“Are you coming with me?”
“Where to?” I asked.
“For the long journey. e inevitable one. Join me, let us go together,” the
old man said.
Before I could take a decision to go with him or not, the cart moved
away. I could easily hear the voice of the cart man say,
“His time is yet to come. Let him wait.”
I was wondering what was happening. e cart disappeared at the curve
of the road. I was still standing at the gate suddenly sweating and shivering
with a fear of the unknown.
A schoolboy, perhaps studying in class one or two, on his way to school,
appeared in front of me, looked at me, and tried to walk away at speed.
“Hi, just wait! You know that old man just disappeared on that cart?” I
asked the boy.
“Are you dreaming? Nobody was here, no cart, no old man,” the boy
answered. He also walked passed.
Now I was all alone again, standing at the gate looking to the void of the
road. Nobody was there now, it was like an ash ribbon. But my mind was
in a different mood. I felt as if something was lost in oblivion. I had to
search out what I had lost.
“Is it my face?” I asked myself.
“May be. e identity of self,” I replied to me.
Since dawn I had been standing at the gate all for nothing. Looking to the
road, it had been just a waste of time, waiting for something unknown.
“at is life! To wait for the unknown, even knowing it will not get here.
Absurd thoughts, yes?”
Somebody was talking with me from within.
“Yes, of course! But I want to stop this waiting. Either IT should be mine,
or I should be IT’S. How much time will it take?”
Here I recall a story. Narada was doing tapas to be in oneness with Lord
Hari. Years and years passed, yet nothing happened. One day Narada saw
Garuda, the vehicle of the Lord. Narada requested him,
“Please ask the Lord when I will get salvation.”
Garuda on return from the abode of the Lord met Narada again. Narada
was doing tapas under a tamarind tree.
“Have you asked the Lord about my salvation? What did he say in reply?”
Narada asked.
“Yes, the Lord replied that you will get salvation aer some years,”
Garuda replied.
“But how many years?” Narada asked again.
“Look to the tamarind tree. As many as the number of leaves on this tree.
You have to wait that many number of years!” Garuda said.
Narada started dancing happily chanting the Harinaama . (name of Hari)
“Why you are dancing? You have to wait for so many years,” Garuda
asked.
“I am sure nally one day I will get salvation. I am ready to wait for it. It
is con rmed that I will be liberated!”
 Narada continued chanting the Lord’s naama japa and dancing.
I laughed at myself. I too was not at all sure about when I would get IT.
But I am sure I WILL.
I stopped searching for that lost face of mine and returned to my room,
leaving the gate, in a very cheerful mood.
 Spark 16

THEIR ACTIONS, BUT WE SUFFER

Such a thing happens when the parents act without proper thinking. It
happened in my life too. Ours was a joint family. Namboothiris in Kerala
used to follow marumakkathayam 16 . In those days the family used to be
ruled by the maternal uncles. e father did not have much voice in any
day-to-day administration of the family.
My uncle was a politician and was running a tutorial college in the nearby
town. His daughter was my childhood friend. We played together, and
lived together. Sometimes during informal sittings of the family members,
the parents and especially the women told us,
“is girl is yours. You will marry her.”
at was the old system among Namboothiris. Marrying the daughter of
an uncle was prevalent among them. But what did we children know about
their talks and commitments on marriage? But something did ‘click’ in our
minds. It was a seed of thought planted by the parents in the bare elds of
our minds about our family life.
When I think back now, that seed must have started slowly sprouting
then. I am not sure whether I will call it love or not, but we were good
friends. We shared every moment whenever we met. During my college
days one evening, sitting on the verandah of my ancestral home, I told her,
“I have decided to leave all behind to be initiated into sanyas. ”
“What! Sanyas !!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, I mean that. It’s my destiny. I must go. I don’t want to live in this
samsara of hate and envy.”
“You mean you are really going to be a sanyasi ?” she asked, full of doubt.
 I was quiet for a few minutes. It seemed like my words had shaken her
mind, created a sort of tempest. It appeared she was not ready for this.
ough our parents had been preparing us to think that we were ‘made for
each other’, such feelings had never taken root in my mind at least, from
the beginning. But I was unsure about her mindset. She may have thought
she had a future with me.
I le home to become a sanyasi, travelling all over India as a parivrajaka
in search of the Self. Time passed thus.
Once I was on my way to Anantapur to attend a disciple’s marriage
ceremony, when I received a call on my cell phone.
“My commitments are now all over with—the education of my sisters and
their marriages. I have built a house for myself too. Now you can come
back to me.”
It was she, my uncle’s daughter, the one with whom I had played in my
childhood, and with whom I had lived. She had been waiting all these
years for me to return to her. She was yet unmarried. I began wondering
what was happening to me.
“Nothing doing. How can I return from my sanyasi life? Ha, you can join
me and be initiated into sanyasa instead, and stay with me as a disciple. Or
if you become a sanyaasin , I can also arrange for your stay at an ashram
for women in Haridwar,” I replied.
But she felt otherwise.
“I do not believe in your gods who have given me such suffering my
whole life. Aer my father’s death, I underwent a lot to bring up my sisters
and get them married. None of your gods extended their help to me. Never
talk to me about your absurd Vedanta ,” she said.
Of course, I was able to understand her mindset. But I too could not go
back to her to lead a householder’s life. I had travelled too far to reach
where I was now.
“Let go then. If you cannot come and stay with me as a sanyaasin , better
forget it. But don’t ever call me back,” I told her.
She never did call me again. I had learned about her sacri ces in life, on
how she had worked as a teacher to bring up her three sisters, and settled
them in life. She had forgotten to live for herself. She had lived only for
others.
All this had come to pass because of the way parents try to in uence the
children’s future. Never do the parents give a thought to what will happen
to the children’s tender and impressionable minds, when they sow such
seeds with their own expectations and plans for the future.
I am able to forgive my parents who unwittingly created this chaos in the
life of two youngsters. But I am unable to forget the impact on her life.
Sometimes it wrenches my heart when I recall her pain. ey acted, and we
are suffering.

16 Marumakkathayam—matriarchal form of society—form of social organization in which the

mother or oldest female is the head of the family and descent are reckoned through female line.
 Glossary

Aachamana —A purifying ritual done to the throat by the ceremonial

sipping of water and touching the various parts of the body.
Aacharana— religious conduct
Aadi thaalam —One of the most popular rhythms in Carnatic music.
Aahuti— Sacri ce offered to the ritual re or homa.
Aanandashru —Tears of joy
Aasha rahita —desirelessness
Aashirvadam —Blessings
Aatmagaatham— Talking to oneself
Adi Shankaracharya or Adi Shankara —Hindu philosopher of mid to late
8th century CE, widely accepted as incarnation of Lord Shiva. Author of
over several hundred texts that are the foundation of Advaita Vedanta
school of Hinduism. He cleansed the Vedic religious practices of ritualistic
excesses, and ushered in the core teaching of Vedanta, which is Advaita or
non-dualism. Also known as Bhagavadpada Shankaracharya.
Adivasi— Ethnic and tribal groups
Akasha Vritti —a life without asking anything from anybody for day-to-
day needs, and only accepting the minimum
Aksharabyasam —A ritual making a baby start writing, done at a temple
using rice to write with the baby’s ngers. Usually done at the rst birthday.
Alphy —A long shirt like dress made of country cotton fabric
Amalaki —e fruit gooseberry
Amavasya —New moon
Amma —mother
Ananda —extreme happiness, one of the highest states of being
Anna(s) —Obsolete currency where 16 annas equals one rupee
Annadanam —an offering of food
Annakshetras —almonries
Antyaja —of inferior class/tribe
Aparigraha— concept of non-possessiveness
Apavitrata —Impurity
Apmaan —Insult
Arathi/Aarathi —worship ritual in which light, usually an oil lamp is
offered to the deity, to the accompaniment of chants
Archana —Personal puja or prayers offered by a temple priest to the deity,
on behalf of a devotee, to invoke blessings and guidance
Ardha nareeshwara —Lord Shiva and his consort Shakti in unity in the
form of half man and half woman.
Ardhanareeshwara— A composite androgynous form of Shiva and his
consort Shakti
Artha —refer to Purushartha
Arunachal/Arunachala/Arunachal Hill —A holy hill at iruvannamalai
in Tamil Nadu, revered as the Kailash of South India
Asan/Asana —seat (used as a seat or bed in a cave)
Ashadha masam —fourth month according to Hindu calendar, between
June-July, when the south-west monsoon hits India
Ashrama —stage of life
Ashtami —eighth day following the nine nights of Navaratri
Ashtavakra Geeta/Gita —Song of Ashtavakra is a classical Vedanta
scripture and is written as a dialogue between sage Ashtavakra and King
Janaka, which is a treatise about Self. Astavakra is a sage mentioned in the
Hindu scriptures is described as born with eight deformities of the body.
Astavakra literally means”one having eight bends”
Atma —soul or the higher self.
Atma Gyana —Knowledge of the Self
Avadhoota —A mystic saint and a liberated ascetic who has gone beyond
egoic-consciousness, duality and common worldly concerns and acts, and is
oen without standard social etiquette.
Avatar —a manifestation of a deity or released soul in bodily form on
earth; an incarnate divine teacher
Avinashi— indestructible, immortal
Ayurveda, Ayurvedic —system of medicine with historical roots to India.
Baala —child
Baba —An ascetic/saint is addressed as Baba/Father
Badha —obstacle
Bala mantra —Chant or mantra of Balatripurasundari a form of Srividya
Balavat —Behavior as innocent as a child
Beedi/Bidi —Indian hand-rolled cigarette
Beejam —Seed, or foundation
Bhagavat Gita —Literally, “song of the Spirit”, it is the most famous of
Hindu scriptures in Sanskrit, and is in the form of counseling by Lord
Krishna to Arjuna. It is a section of the epic Mahabharata.
Bhagawatam —Religious text
Bhagvan Nityananda —A highly revered Siddha Guru who has an ashram
in Ganeshpuri, Maharashtra.
Bhagvaan/Bhagawan— Literally God, Sometimes one’s Guru is referred to
as Bhagvan
Bhajan— songs with religious theme
Bhakti kavi —A poet who writes poetry of devotion
Bhakti yoga —e yogic path of devotion to deity that leads to union with
the Divine
Bhalu —White Himalayan bear
Bhandara —Food prepared on large scale, as a religious offering to the gods
and eaten in a community setting
Bharat —Ancient name of India
Bhava —feelings
Bhikharin —Beggar woman
Bhiksha— Alms
Bhikshu —Monk, usually Buddhist
Bhrashta —immoral conduct, fallen into depravity
Bindu —Sanskrit word for point or dot.
Brahma hatya— the act of killing a Brahmin
Brahma Shakti —e force of creation
Brahma sutra —Foundational texts in Sanskrit, of the Vedanta school of
Hindu philosophy
Brahma tatva— Supreme Truth
Brahmachari —celibate on spiritual path. A brahmachari is a student of the
Vedas, committed to celibacy and leading a virtuous and simple life of
meditation and training for spiritual living.
Brahmagyaani— Knower of the supreme truth
Brahmana —Refer to Varna
Brahmanatwa —State of orthodox Brahminhood
Brahmin —Commonly understood as a person belonging to the Hindu
priestly class, but can also be viewed as one who has realized the Brahman
or Self
Chaadar— Blanket
Chaar dham — Literally four abodes/seats, the names of four pilgrimage
sites in the Himalayas—Badrinath, Kedarnath, Yamunotri & Gangotri—
that are widely revered by Hindus
Chaitanya —consciousness
Chakras — e Sanskrit word Chakra literally translates to wheel or disk.
In yoga and Ayurveda, this refers to the wheels of energy that exists
throughout the body. e wheels of energy in a body corresponds to the
nerve centers.
Chandan —Sandalwood paste
Chandi Paath —Religious text describing the victory of the Goddess Durga
over the demon Mahishasura. It comprises 700 verses spread over 13
chapters. A ritualistic reading is oen done during Navaratri celebrations
and during Chandi Homam. Considered a powerful reservoir of mantras.
Chaturmas deeksha —Deeksha given during Chaturmasya
Chaturmasya— holy period of four months (July to October)
Chaturvarna— Varna’ is a Sanskrit word which means type, order, color or
class. ‘Chatur’ means four. e society was classi ed in principle into four
varnas: Brahmins as priests, scholars and teachers; Kshatriyas as rulers,
warriors and administrators; Vaishyas as cattle herders, agriculturists,
artisans and merchants; Shudras as laborers and service providers.
Chettiar —merchant caste
Chiti yantra —Yantra is a mystical diagram and Chiti yantra refers to
Nadanandaji’s research and treatise on Sri Vidya
Crorepati —millionaire
Dabba —container
Dakshina —Donation or payment for the services of a priest, spiritual
guide or teacher, and ideally an offering of gratitude without expectation of
personal gain
Dal —Lentil (a warm gravy food made out of cooked lentils)
Dal Baati churma—A speciality food item from Rajasthan which contains
semi-sweet churma, lentils and fried poori.
Dal vada— fried lentil fritters
Dand —Long staff carried by some but not all sanyasis, depending on
sampradaya
Darshan— Sighting of the idol of the deity
Dasaamsa japa —Japa or chanting in divisions of ten
Dasamsh havan —Recitation of mantras, aer completion of the main japa,
for a number of times equal to one-tenth of total number of japa mantra
recitations
Dashami —tenth day following the nine nights of Navaratri
Datta Bhagwan —referring to Lord Dattatreya, considered to be an avatar
(incarnation) of the three Hindu gods Brahma , Vishnu , and Shiva , and as
the exemplary type of the avadhoota. He can also be considered to be
combining three gures in a paradigmatic way: the ascetic, the guru, and
the avatara. He is oen depicted with three heads and accompanied by a
cow representing mother earth and four dogs representing the four Vedas.
Deepam— lamp
Deepavali —Major religious festival, falling in October-November, and the
day of closing of the Badrinath temples for winter
Devi Bhagavatham —Durga Saptasati or Chandi Paath/Devi Mahatmyam
—religious text describing the Goddess as the supreme power and creator
of the universe. It is also known as ‘Chandi Paath’.
Devi Pranav Deeksha —Spiritual initiation with the mantra of the Goddess
Devi pranava —e seed mantra/chant to invoke Devi
Devi stotra —Recitation to the supreme Mother
Dhaba— Roadside eatery
Dharma —Duty
Dharma —refer to Purushartha
Dharmashala— Rest house for pilgrims
Dharna —a peaceful demonstration
Dhavani —Upper garment, as worn in South India
Dhooni /Dhun i—Sacred re, oen kept lit perpetually. Symbolizes the
purifying inner re of Divine Love
Dhyan/a —Meditation
Diksha or Deeksha —Spiritual initiation
Dourbhagyavaan— misfortune
Druta taalam —two count beat in a rhythm of music/musical instrument
Durga —Principal form of the Mother Goddess, in her warrior
manifestation
Dvaita bhava —seeing others as different from oneself, duality in beliefs
Ekadasi —Eleventh day of waxing or waning moon phase
Ekakshari —Chant/mantra of one syllable
Fasali— Harvest
Gaali —scolding
Gaddi —Cushion
Gajagamini —gait of an elephant
Ganeshpuri —City in Maharashtra, India—Ashram of Bhagwan
Nityananda
Ganga jal —Water of River Ganga
Ganga, Ganges, Ganga Mata —e second largest riven in the Indian sub-
continent, the river is revered and considered the heart of Hindu religion,
tradition and living.
Ganja —Cannabis
Gayatri— Sanskrit word for a song or hymn having a vedic meter of three
lines. Also a highly revered mantra from the Rig Veda.
Gayatri Saadhana— Spiritual practice of chanting Gayatri mantra
Geetam —melodious song
Ghat— river bank or piece of land for a particular purpose; ground
Giri Pradakshina —Circumambulation of the Arunachala Hill
Giri Pradakshina Veedhi —e path for the pradakshina or
circumbulation
Gita or Bhagavat Gita—Hindu scripture in Sanskrit world renowned for its
philosophical signi cance
Godavari— the second longest river in India, starts in Maharashtra and
ows eastwards emptying into the Bay of Bengal. It is called the Ganges of
the South.
Gompa —Tibetan monastery—a set of small Tibetan temple buildings and
other places of worship or religious learning
Gopika —cow herdess, also friend or lover of Lord Krishna
Gopuram —A pyramidical tower, usually ornate, at the entrance of any
temple, especially in southern India.
Goshala— Cowshed
Gotti or Goli —marbles used for play (like checker game) mostly on the
roadside
Gulbakkavali— an ayurvedic plant; ginger lily
Guna— Merit, also means quality or attribute
Gunny sack —Burlap
Guru Gita —Song of the Guru
Guru mandal/mandala —e fraternity of sages, rishis and gurus who had
themselves acquired a very high position in the hierarchy of spiritual
evolution. All these sages were an ‘Awakened’ lot and formed a spiritual
league to help humanity enjoy the divine bliss which they had themselves
experienced.
Guru Mantra Deeksha —Initiation by the Guru who imparts a secret
sacred chant of the Gurus.
Guru Parampara —e spiritual tradition or lineage of Gurus or Spiritual
Masters
Guru Poornima— Guru Poornima is an Indian festival dedicated to
spiritual masters and is celebrated on a full moon day in the month of
Ashada according to the Vedic calendar, sometime during July-August
Guru shishya sambandha —e relationship between the master and
disciple
Gurubehan/behen —Fellow female student of the same spiritual
master/lineage, considered as a sister
Gurubhai —Fellow male students of the same Guru, and so considered as
brothers
Guruji— Spiritual Master—‘ji’ is added as a mark of respect
Gurusthan —literally, place of the Guru
Gurutatva —e principle that the guru is the element that causes spiritual
awakening within oneself, through a transmission process beyond the reach
of the human intellect. e Guru is to be acknowledged as not a physical
being but God Himself manifesting in a personal form to guide the aspirant
Guruvayur —A famous and religious temple of Lord Krishna in Kerala,
South India
Gyana marga —the path to spiritual knowledge
Gyana Shakti —the creative power of spiritual knowledge; the power to
know
Gyanagni dagdha karmanam —burnt by the re of knowledge/wisdom
(chapter 4.19 of Bhagavad Gita)
Gyanganj —Legendary city-kingdom of mysterious immortal beings, from
ancient Indian and Tibetan mythology. It is said to be inhabited by yogis
and saints of high order, and is also a place of spiritual training. Situated in
a valley somewhere deep in the Himalayas, and though hidden from the
world, still in uencing it in various subtle ways when necessary. It is said
that Gyanganj is cunningly camou aged or may even be existing in a
completely different plane of reality.
Halwa —a sweet dish
Hamsa —literally swan, but also a mythical bird with knowledge and
represents the individual soul or spirit.
Hamsa gaanam/Hamsa ganam —celestial song by the swan
Havan/Homam —Religious ceremony performed in temples and in homes
that involves worship through the use of a sacred re, and with recitations
of mantras
Havan/Homa kunda —Fire altar into which the homa offerings are made
Hindi— India being a large country where several languages are spoken,
Hindi is the national language and is spoken widely in the Northern part of
India. However, Nadanandaji grew up in Kerala which is a state in South
India where Hindi is not widely spoken.
Hindu —Religion followed by many in India
Hindustan —India
Homa agni —e re blazing in the homa pit
Homa kunda —Fire altar into which the homa offerings are made
Hreem— the seed mantra for Sri Vidya
Iccha— Desire
Iccha Shakti —the force or spiritual energy of desire
Ishta Devi/Devata —Literally ‘cherished divinity’ taken from the words
is.ht.a which means desired, liked, cherished or preferred and devi or
devatā while godhead, divinity, tutelary deity is a term denoting a
worshipper’s favorite deity within Hinduism
Iswara —God in the male form
Jagat— whole world
Jal pathra —Kamandal —Water vessel carried by sadhu
Jal Samadhi —Internment in water—Dead bodies of saints are interned in
owing water
Janma —birth
Japa —Chanting of sacred mantras
Japa chakra —Prayer wheel
Japa mala —A string of prayer beads
Japa Purascharan— A vow to repeat a mantra a xed number of times,
usually a very large number, with complete concentration and rigid
discipline, with the aim of spiritual progress
Japa Samarpan —Offering of chants
Japa sankalp —Vow to recite mantra a prescribed number of times
Jaunsarbavar —A hilly region near Mussoorie in Dehradun, India
Jeeva —Living being (literally, that which has life)
Jhadi— Forest
Kaali— Black one, or Goddess of Time, the destroyer of evil forces
Kaccha —Unpaved, not properly constructed
Kafni— A knee-length, loose robe-like garment
Kailash —Mountain peak in Tibet, legendary home of Lord Shiva and
Parvati
Kala Kambaliwala/ Baba Kali Kamli Dharamshala —A resthouse for
wandering monks/saints in Rishikesh, North India
Kaliyuga —Age of the Kali or demon or age of vice, is the last of the four
stages the world as described in ancient Sanskrit texts
Kama —desire
Kama —refer to Purushartha
Kamandal— Oblong water pot used by ascetics or yogis to store and carry
water
Kambal— Blanket
Kanya Pooja —worship of young girls representing Mother Goddess
Kappa —Tapioca
Kappar/Khappar —Vessel for receiving alms carried by a sadhu
Karma bhoomi —Land where the prevailing culture aids and supports a
spiritual seeker in neutralizing his karmas through ritual and penance
Karma phala —Fruits of karma/destiny
Karma Yoga —Yoga of sel ess action or service, whereby detaching oneself
from the fruits of actions and offering them up to God, one learns to
sublimate the ego
Karthik poornima —Hindu festival celebrated on the full moon day in the
month of Karthika per Vedic calendar (November-December)
Karuna —Compassion
Karyalaya— Office
Kasba —Walled Township
Kashaya —Saffron, orange coloured robe
Kashaya dhvaja —Saffron ag
Kashayam/Kashaya vastra —Saffron-colored clothing typically worn by
sanyasis
Kashi— Another name for the holy city of Varanasi
Keerthan/Keerthanai —Bhajan singing by an individual
Khajoor —dry fruit Dates
Kheer— Pudding made with milk, sugar and broken grain
Kichadi/khichadi —Rice and lentil gruel
Kothari— Owners/caretakers of large granaries/storehouses
Koupina —loin cloth
Krama deeksha —Step by step initiation process, moving into higher
sadhanas
Krishna— Eighth incarnation/avatar of Lord Vishnu
Kriya —spiritual practice
Kriya of Shat Chakra bhedan —e activation of the six chakras
Krupa/Kripa —Grace
Kshama —Forgiveness
Kshamta —Capability or competence
Kshatriya —Refer to Varna
Kumkum —Vermillion, red powder worn as marking on forehead, made
by combining turmeric with lime. It is offered to the goddess in
puja/worship
Kutia —A hut, dwelling place
Lalitha Sahasranamam —Sacred and powerful hymn of thousand names
of the Mother Goddess Lalitha
Lalitha Tripurasundari —Highest manifestation of Goddess Adi Shakti
and the primary goddess associated with the Shiva–Shakti tradition.
Lalitha Trishathi —Most secret and sacred of the chanting of Mother
Goddess Lalitha. is stotra recounts the 300 names of the goddess.
Lamas —An honori c title applied to a spiritual leader in Tibetan
Buddhism
Laxmi Narayan— Lakshmi and Vishnu
Laxmi/Lakshmi —Goddess of wealth, consort of Vishnu
Leela —Divine play, or all reality, including the cosmos, as the outcome of
creative play by the divine absolute
Lord Rama —Incarnation/avatar of Lord Vishnu and hero-king of the
famous epic Ramayana
Maa —Mother
Maalik —Master
Maayee/Mayee —Mother
Maha Tapa— e Head of Gyanganj, Mahavatar Babaji
MahaKali —Goddess of time and death
MahaLakshmi— Goddess of abundance and prosperity
Maharaj —Sadhus in North India are respectfully addressed by this title
Maharaja —King
Maharashtra— State in the western part of India
Maharshi— A geat saint
MahaSaraswathi— Goddess of the arts, knowledge, and wisdom
Mahatma —Literally great soul, or person of advanced spiritual stature
Mahavatar Babaji or Babaji— Indian saint and yogi, believed to have
revived the ancient science of Kriya Yoga, Head of Gyanganj
Makara Sankranti —A Hindu harvest festival that marks the transition of
the sun into the zodiacal sign of Makara (Capricorn) on its celestial path.
e day is also believed to mark the arrival of spring in India.
Mala —necklace
Malayalam —Language spoken in south India, predominantly in the state
of Kerala
Mama —Mother’s brother; uncle
Manasarovar —Freshwater lake in Tibet near Mt.Kailash, bathing in and
drinking its water is believed by Hindus to cleanse all sins.
Manasik pranams —Paying obeisance mentally
Manava —Human being
Mandali— Group of sanyasis
Mandir —Temple
Mantra —A sacred utterance, sound, syllable, word or phonemes, or group
of words in Sanskrit believed to have psychological and spiritual powers.
e sounds may, or may not have literal meaning.
Mantra deeksha —Initiation with a mantra or syllable
Mantra Shakti —the divine energy or force of mantra
Masala —A powdered blend of spices
Mathadipathi— Head of a Mutt or Ashram
Mattadhipati— Head of the mutt or ashram
Mauna/ Maun Vrata/ Mouna— Vow of silence
Maya —Name, fame, wealth—created by the obscuring power that conceals
the true character of spiritual reality. e manifested world of creation is
constantly changing and thus considered unreal.
Mohi —A devotee of Avadhoota Nadananda
Moksha —refer to Purushartha
Moksha —Salvation or freedom from rebirth
Mookambika —e Kollur Mookambika Temple located at Kollur, Udupi
district in the state of Karnataka, India, is a Hindu temple dedicated to
Mookambika Devi.
Mookambika, Chottanikara Bhagavati, Kodungalur Bhagavati, Vaishno
Devi, or Nayana Devi—Different names of Goddess Parvati or Shakti
Moorthy —Idol of God
Moorti sthapana — Installation of the idol with rites and rituals
Mritunjaya mantra —e Maha mrityunjaya mantra is a powerful hymn in
the ancient Veda which has the power to conquer death.
Mudra —Symbolic hand gestures used in Hindu and Buddhist ceremonies,
movement or pose in yoga
Muhurtam —auspicious time
Mukhiya —Village chief
Murukku— a snack
Muthessi— Grandmother
Mutt —Ashram
Naadam/ Nada —energy of music
Naga sadhu —Shaivite saints, who live in the Himalayas and occasionally
come down to the plains
Naishtik brahmachari— a staunch celibate, not caught in the sway of
desire
Naivedyam— Food offered to a Hindu deity/guru as part of a worship
ritual, before eating it
Namaskar —A traditional Indian greeting or gesture of respect, made by
bringing the palms together before the face or chest and bowing
Nambudiri/Namboothiri —e Malayalam speaking Brahmins of Kerala
Narmada —A River that ows through Central/Western India
Navami —Ninth day of the fortnight in the Hindu Lunar Calendar
Navaratna —Nine gems
Navaratri— Literally ‘nine nights’ in Sanskrit, nava meaning nine and ratri
meaning nights. e Goddess Shakti is worshipped in her different
manifestations for nine nights and ten days. is is a major Indian festival
occurring in autumn (September-October) and spring (March-April)
Navavaran Pooja —e highest Pooja ritual of the Goddess, aimed at
removing the nine concealments or obstructions to self-realization that are
within one’s mind and ego
Nirakara —Formless
Nishkaam karma —Sel ess action without expectation or agenda, non-
attached action without obligation
Nishkalankata— Quality of purity and innocence, and being sel ess
Nitya karma —Daily ablutions
Niyati— Rule of destiny
Niyogam— Plan or destined arrangement
Omkar/Omkara —the primodial sound “Om”
Omkareshwar —Hindu temple dedicated to Lord Shiva, situated on an
island called Mandhata or Shivapuri in the Narmada River
Oottupura —Temple dining hall
Paan —A preparation combining betel leaf with areca nut and sometimes
also tobacco. It is chewed for stimulant and psychoactive effects.
Paarayana —Chanting in groups
Pachadi— food item, like a dip made of vegetable, yogurt etc.
Pada —As in padyatra, pilgrimage on foot
Paisa —One hundred paisa equals one rupee
Pallipatty— a snack
Panchabootha— ve elements of nature
Pancha maha yagna —a daily ritual to be followed by Hindus. Offering
food to ve deities—God close to heart, God of the family, the animal,
reptile family, ancestors and Guru.
Panchadasi— Devi mantra of een letters
Panchajanyam— Periodical, popular in Kerala, South India
Panchakarma— Ayurvedic medical treatment using oils and herbs
Panchama raga —one of the tunes in the Indian classical music
Panchami —Fih day of the moon
Panchang —A Hindu calendar and almanac which follows traditional units
of Hindu timekeeping, and presents important dates and their calculations
in a tabulated form.
Panchayat— Village governing body, assembly of village elders
Panditji— Priest
Papa —sin
Papad —Fried lentil wafers
Para Loka —World beyond death
Para Vidya —Higher or spiritual knowledge of the inner world, as opposed
to knowledge of the material world
Param guru/ Paramaguru/Parmeshti Guru —Guruji’s Guruji (Master’s
Master—Grand Master)
Parama virakt —Person with absolute indifference to worldly pleasures.
Renouncer of all material things.
Paramahamsa— literally means supreme swan; symbolizes spiritual
discrimination and refers to one who has attained realization of the true
Self
Paramanu —Atom
Paramatma— e Supreme Divine Soul
Parampara— A succession of teachers and disciples in traditional Vedic
culture; guru–sishya tradition.
Parasu— Axe
Paratpara Guru —Guruji’s Guruji’s Guruji (Great Grand Master)
Parigraha/m —intention to accumulate material possessions for future use
Parikrama —Circumambulation
Parivrajaka —Wandering monk
Parnasala —Hut made of leaves
Parvat —Mountain
Pathankot —City in the Indian State of Punjab
Pathra —Vessel, utensil
Pathrata —Eligibility
Payasam —Pudding sweetened with sugar or jaggery, and made with dairy
or coconut milk and broken grain
Peepal— Ficus religiosa or sacred g tree
Peetham— University or academic institution
Pishachavat— Sudden ts of anger etc. Literally means like a ghost. A
realized one who is a loner and exhibits strange behavior and hence feared
by people because they do not understand such a one
Pitthu— Large backpacks
Pongal —Dish of rice, moong lentils cooked together with spices and
clari ed butter
Pooja pathra —Utensils used for worship in the Temple
Pooja samagri —Materials used for worship
Poojari —Priest
Poojya —Respected, honorable
Poori— Deep fried wheat bread
Poornabhisekam —ritual conducted by pouring liquid (water, milk etc.) on
the idol of the God or the body of the person to whom it is performed.
Poornima— Full moon
Poorva janma karma phalam —e result of the deeds of one’s previous
birth
Poorvashram —Previous stage of life, before Sanyasa/renunciation
Pottli— Small cloth bag
Pradakshina —A ritual of circumambulation around the inner sanctum in
a temple
Prakruthi— Nature
Pralaya —dissolution
Pralobhan —Temptation
Prana Shakti —Prana (vital energy), Shakti (Awareness), in this context,
the awareness of the vital energy
Pranaam —Greeting with respect; Namaskaar
Pranava —‘Om’ mantra considered the symbol or representation of the
individual soul which sanyasis must always chant
Pranayama —Science and practice of control of breath as part of yoga
Pranta Karyavah —Official of civil organization
Prasadam —Food that is a religious offering, consumed aer worship or
religious ceremony
Pratibhijna —recognition
Prayaschita puja —a worship for atonement of sin committed
Prayoga vidhi —Method of usage
Presh mantra —Standing in water, this mantra is chanted as a vow of
renunciation of the world, worldly relations and material wealth.
Preta yoni/atma —Ghost state aer death
Pujari/Purohit— Priest who performs puja
Punya karma —Meritorious deeds
Purascharan— A vow to repeat a mantra a xed number of times, usually a
very large number, with complete concentration and rigid discipline, with
the aim of spiritual progress
Purushartha —It is a key concept in Hinduism, and refers to four goals of a
human life—Dharma (righteousnous), Artha (prosperity), Kama (pleasure),
Moksha (liberation).
Puttu —food item, steam rice and coconut made in a tubular special vessel
Radha bhava —In the mood, emotion or devotional state of mind of Radha
the beloved of Krishna
Ragam— e six basic musical modes which express different moods in
certain characteristic progressions, with more emphasis placed on some
notes than others, of Indian classical music. A scienti c, precise, and
aesthetic melodic form with its own distinct ascending and descending
movement, consisting of combinations of notes of the octave. One raga is
demarcated from another in the way the notes are combined. e music
created by a raga is known to color the mind in a particular way, creating
distinct moods or feelings.
Rahasya —Sacred Secret
Ramana Maharishi —A renowned and revered Indian sage who lived in
the Arunachala hills of iruvannamalai, Tamil Nadu
Rishi— A seer who realizes eternal knowledge beyond the mundane world
and gives expression to those truths in the form of hymns, many such
hymns are found in the scriptures, the Vedas.
Rishi runa —Runa means debt. When highly evolved souls have a debt to
the Creator, they come down to earth and lead a life of a human being to
satisfy the debt owed.
Rishikesh —Ancient pilgrim city, Dehradun, Uttarakhand, North India.
Roti —Unleavened wheat atbread
Rudri— Rudram or Rudri is an important text in praise of Lord Shiva.
Runa —Debt
Saadhaka/Sadhak —An accomplished spiritual practitioner
Saadhana —Daily spiritual practice
Saakshatkaram —self realization
Saatvic —Pious, virtuous.
Sabji —Cooked vegetable dish
Sadguru —An honori c title given to an enlightened Master
Sadhu —Hindu monk; an ascetic, holy man
Sadhvi— Female ascetic
Sahaja —spontaneous
Sahasrara— Crown chakra is generally considered the seventh primary
chakra, according to most tantric yoga traditions and is the one which
integrates all the chakras with their respective qualities. It is the last
milestone of the evolution of human awareness.
Sailani— Wanderer
Sakamata —e desire to gain something materialistic
Sakshatkara —Realization
Sakshi —witness
Saligram —spiraled ammonite stone, worshipped as iconic symbol of
Vishnu
Samadhi —Stage of union with the Divine, the highest bliss
Samadhi mandir —When an enlightened being leaves his mortal body, a
temple is built over when the mortal remains are buried.
Samaj seva —Community service
Samatva bhavana —Viewing all beings impartially, without attachment or
bindings
Sambar— a lentil-based vegetable stew made with tamarind and spices
Samhar —Annihilation and reabsorption
Sampraday bheda —Differential treatment pertaining to spiritual tradition
Sampradaya name —Traditional religious title
Samsara —Terrestrial
Samsaric —worldly; endless cycle of life and birth
Samskara —puri catory ceremony; imprints or past life impressions
Samyak nyasa —To renounce worldly and material aspects of living and
lead a life of intellectual contemplation
Sandhya Aarati —(Refer to Aarati) Aarati performed during evening time
Sankalpa Siddhi —e power to ful ll desires or wishes effortlessly
Sankalpam —Solemn vow or determination
Sansaris —Worldly people
Sanskara —rite
Sanskrit —Primary sacred language of Hinduism
Sanyasa— State of renunciation, asceticism
Sanyasi— Renunciate
Saptaha —Seven days, usually period chosen to perform a chanting/reading
of spiritual text.
Sari/Saree —A female garment traditionally worn in India
Sarva Sanga Parityaga Sanyasi —One in complete freedom from all
attachments, unruffled and immune to all temptations, because of seeing
the Self in all
Sashtanga namaskara —A form of salutation where the eight limbs of the
body, namely, two hands, two legs, two arms, chest and forehead, touch
the ground. It symbolizes the nulli cation of one’s ego before Guru or God.
Sat-chit-ananda —Truth, consciousness, bliss
Satram —A resting place for pilgrims where rooms and food are provided
by a charitable institution for nominal rates or for free
Satsang— A gathering of people for spiritual discourse
Sauparnika —River owing near the Mookambika Temple, Kollur
Seva —Service
Shaakteya —A sub-sect of Hinduism in which the followers worship
Mother Goddess in Her various avatars and incarnations.
Shakha —Branch
Shakta— Worshipper of Shakti
Shakthi upaasana— Worship of Shakti
Shakti —e female principle of divine energy, especially when personi ed
as the supreme deity.
Shakti saadhana— e spiritual practice of worship of Shakti, Mother
Goddess
Shaktipat— Spiritual/Divine Energy transfer from Guru to disciple
Shanthi —peace
Shastras —Scripture
Shavasana —Supine corpse pose in Hatha Yoga
Shiva Mahimna stotra —A Sanskrit composition in devotion of Lord Shiva
Shivalingam / lingam —Abstract or an iconic representation of Lord Shiva
Shodasi mantra/vidya —Knowledge of the sixteen-lettered mantra of the
Goddess, recitation of which leads to liberation. is is considered secretive
in nature, and only to be imparted by a Guru on initiation.
Shuddhi— Purity; righteousness
Shudra —Refer to Varna
Siddha— masters who have acquired siddhis and achieved some degree of
spiritual perfection or enlightenment.
Siddha bhoomi/sthaana —Land or place of the adepts; spiritual energy
vortex
Siddha Parampara —Traditional lineage of adepts, and ascetics who have
achieved enlightenment
Sishya —disciple
Smashaan Ghat —Cremation ground
Soham Dhyan —Meditation on the Soham mantra, a central mantra
practice of Yoga Meditation.
Soundarya Lahiri —Hymns of the Mother Goddess written by Adi
Shankaracharya
Sparsan —Touch
Sramadan —Donation of time and effort, excluding money, for a good
cause
Sravana Samadhi —Listening bliss (going into a blissful state while listening
to a spiritual discourse)
Sri Chakra —a sacred geometrical construction of nine levels representing
the Cosmos within which the Mother Goddess is considered to manifest
herself along with Her parivara (family) yoginis. e Shiva and Shakti
aspects of Consciousness and Awareness reside on the peak at the Navama
(ninth) Avarana (level) called Bindu. Visualization and internal
contemplation of the manifestation of this Sri Chakra within the physical
body in a subtle form is the secret of Sri Vidya.
Sri Raja Rajeswari —Presiding deity of Sri Chakra, the Divine Mother
Sri Vidya Sadhana —Sri Vidya is an ancient and in uential school of
Goddess-centered Shakta Tantrism. e goddess is worshipped in three
manifestations, as the bene cent deity Lalita Tripurasundari/ Raja
Rajeswari, through her mantra and through her yantra known as Sri
Chakra.
Srishti —Creation, emanation, projection
Srividya —Tantric or Shakta theology where the Goddess is worshipped as
the Supreme, transcending the cosmos that is her manifestation.
Stithi— Continuation and maintenance
Stotras— Sacred hymns
Suvasini Pooja —Worship the Mother Goddess in the form of a married
woman
Swabhava —Nature or habit
Swami —An ascetic/saint is addressed as Swami
Swami Vivekananda —Hindu monk and direct disciple of Ramakrishna
Paramahamsa and a major force in the modern revival of Hinduism.
Founder of the Ramakrishna Mission
Swamy Ayyappa —A Hindu deity worshipped as Manikandan or Sasta. e
famous temple of Swamy Ayyappa is located in Sabarimala in Kerala
Swapna —Dream
Swarna bhasma— an ayurvedic compound prepared by using pure gold
Tamasic— negative
Tamil —Language of Indian state of Tamil Nadu
Tandava —cosmic dance of Shiva
Tantra/Tantric/Tantrik —An ancient Indian tradition of beliefs and ritual
practices that seeks to channel the divine energy of macrocosm of God into
the human microcosm.
Tapa Shakti— e spiritual power obtained by the practice of meditation
Tapas/Tapasya —Connotes certain spiritual practices in India related to
asceticism, including meditation, austerities, body morti cation and
penance. Tapasvi n.
Tapovan —Forest of austerities or spiritual practice. In this context, the
area above Gangotri
Tara Mayee —e Guru of Avadhoota Nadananda
Tara Peeth— A famous tantric temple in West Bengal for worship of Maa
Tara
Tarpan/a —Offering/ritualistic worship made to departed entities
(ancestors)
Teertha— religious pilgrimage
Teertham— Holy water associated with a temple or deity, or from a
reservoir/river near such sacred sites; also a pilgrimage as in Teerth yatra
Tehsil —An administrative division of a city or town
aalam —A traditional rhythmic pattern in classical Indian music, usually
expressed with percussion instruments
ulasi jalam —water of the holy basil ulasi
Tilak —marking on forehead, usually with a fragrant paste, such as of
sandalwood or kumkum
Tirumaduram —a sweet dish offered to the deity and then eaten as
blessed food
Tiruvannamalai —Please refer to Arunachala
Travancore— Present day Trivandrum, used to be a kingdom until 1949.
Trayodashi —irteenth day of waxing or waning moon phase
Tryakshari mantra —Mantra of three letters
Tyaaga —Sacri ce
Ugadi— Telugu New Yeas Day celebrated in Andhra Pradesh
Upaasya —worthy of worship
Upadesha— Instruction, spiritual guidance
Upanishads —Collection of texts containing central philosophical concepts
of Hinduism, concerning the nature of ultimate reality and describing the
path to human salvation
Upavas —Timed fasting as part of religious observance
Utsavam— annual religious festival
Uttarkashi —Hindu pilgrim town in the state of Uttarakand, Northern
India
Vaastu sastra —Science of Architecture describing principles for design,
layout, space arrangements etc.
Vaidika pandit —Vedic Priest
Vaidya —treatment
Vairagya —Dispassion or detachment
Vaishnav— Worshipper of Vishnu
Vaishya— Person from business/merchant community
Vaishya —Refer to Varna
Varanasi —Also known as Kashi or Benaras is a city on the banks of the
Ganges in Uttar Pradesh, North India. An ancient city and the spiritual
capital of India, it draws millions of pilgrims throughout the year
Varna —Bhagavad-Gita Chap 4.13—states that there are four orders of
classes namely Brahmana (Priestly), Kshatriya (Warrior), Vaishya
(Merchant) and Shudra (service provider) were created by the
Creator/Creation (maya) according to the quality of the individual (guna)
and work to be carried out in the society (karma).
Vastram —Clothing
Veda/s —philosophy based on the doctrine of the Upanishads, especially in
its monistic form. Vedanti n.
Vedi —Altar
Vibhageeya Chinta —Considering oneself different from others
Vibhuthi/Vibhoothi —sacred ash
Vidya— knowledge
Vihara —Buddhist monastery
Vijaya Dashami —see Dashami
Virakta— tuned away from attachment, detached
Virakti— detachment
Viveka— ability to discriminate; true wisdom
Vrata —Religious vow
Vrithy —Physical cleanliness; virtue
Vyaavaaara— removal of doubts
Yagya/Yaaga— elaborate ceremony around a re, with oblations offered as
worship to the accompaniment of sacred chants/ mantras
Yaksha —A broad class of nature-spirits. Feminine form is Yakshini.
Yama —A Hindu unit of time; one-fourth of a day + night is a yama
Yantra— mystical diagram, especially from the tantric traditions
Yatra— procession
Yatri— Traveler
Yoga bhrashtatha —the break in a spiritual aspirant’s practice leading to
de ecting from higher purpose
Yogini Brahmani— A brahmin women yogi
Zamindari —e Zamindari system introduced by the British in India
allowed land owners, Lorships or Barons to collect tax and have workers.
is system was abolished in 1951 aer India became independent.
Walking Tall in Stature
Gratitude to the Feet that move Hearts
e re within, the re without
Beings in Beingness
Guruji with Mohanji and Sulakhe Maharaj
Liberating Uniqueness
I see what you cannot
Guruji with Mila Mohan
Releasing the Guru Parampara picture
Personi ed Innocence
To know is to be
e Flow of Tradition
Walking in Shirdi streets with Mohanji
Transfering the Tradition
Walking Alone
Table of Contents
From my Heart with Gratitude
Abhayanadam
Advent Of An Avadhoota
Seeds Of Divine Love
The Belt And Beat
A Kiss And Blackmail
The Money Lender Child
The Yellow Shorts And The Mystic Hug
A Few Scattered Memories
Impulsive Genius Of A Humble Caretaker
Oh! You Are That Boy
The Inexplicable Days
Death Of An Artist
To Know Is To Be
The Use And Throw Guruji
Where You Are, There I Am
Another Purascharan At Narmada
Beginning Itself Is Ending
Again At Narmada
In Search Of Unknown
Liberation Of A Soul
From Here To There And Back
Again At My Father’s Abode
The Must Forget Faces
The Parasite Guruji
Bhagavadajjuka—The story of a prostitute and a Sanyasi
Experience Oneness
Mud On My Face
Oneness As Fire And Heat
Anantham, Atmabandham
Being In Awareness
Beware, They Are Watching
A Bittersweet Experience
A Dream Comes True
A Joke Of Six Lakhs
A Runa Paid Off
Activated Inabilities
Hungry For Affection
Curry Leaf Inspirations
Faceless Crowd Aimless Mob
Forget It—It Is Your Mistake
Pouring Milk Onto A Neem Tree
Put Small Fish, Catch Big One
The Return Journey
Three Stories To Remember
An Emotional Sunset
Butterfly—A Messenger
The Hamsa Gaanam
Break Not The Mirror If Thy Face Is Ugly
Vyavahara
Be There Where You Are
To You, For The Motivating Assurances
The Waiting
Meeting Mohanji
Parting Thoughts
Sparks Of Oblivion
Glossary
Table of Contents
From my Heart with Gratitude
Abhayanadam
Advent Of An Avadhoota
Seeds Of Divine Love
The Belt And Beat
A Kiss And Blackmail
The Money Lender Child
The Yellow Shorts And The Mystic Hug
A Few Scattered Memories
Impulsive Genius Of A Humble Caretaker
Oh! You Are That Boy
The Inexplicable Days
Death Of An Artist
To Know Is To Be
The Use And Throw Guruji
Where You Are, There I Am
Another Purascharan At Narmada
Beginning Itself Is Ending
Again At Narmada
In Search Of Unknown
Liberation Of A Soul
From Here To There And Back
Again At My Father’s Abode
The Must Forget Faces
The Parasite Guruji
Bhagavadajjuka—The story of a prostitute and a Sanyasi
Experience Oneness
Mud On My Face
Oneness As Fire And Heat
Anantham, Atmabandham
Being In Awareness
Beware, They Are Watching
A Bittersweet Experience
A Dream Comes True
A Joke Of Six Lakhs
A Runa Paid Off
Activated Inabilities
Hungry For Affection
Curry Leaf Inspirations
Faceless Crowd Aimless Mob
Forget It—It Is Your Mistake
Pouring Milk Onto A Neem Tree
Put Small Fish, Catch Big One
The Return Journey
Three Stories To Remember
An Emotional Sunset
Butterfly—A Messenger
The Hamsa Gaanam
Break Not The Mirror If Thy Face Is Ugly
Vyavahara
Be There Where You Are
To You, For The Motivating Assurances
The Waiting
Meeting Mohanji
Parting Thoughts
Sparks Of Oblivion
Glossary