Search for the Guru: Adventures of a Western Mystic, Book l
CHAPTER 24
RAM DASS
CHAPTER 24
RAM DASS
Maharajji satsang, Nainital, India, 1971.
On the sweltering bus back to Delhi it reached one hundred twenty degrees and I wrapped a shawl around my face to keep out the blowing dust. To make the journey worse, several Indian engineering students heckled me with the same three questions which they repeated over and over: "How much money do you make? How many cars do you have? What is your purpose?"
The first time the questions were asked I replied, "I'm living on savings. I have one old car and I am seeking enlightenment."
"Ha! Ha!" they shouted to each other, "He's seeking enlightenment! What a joke!"
Then the questions repeated with only slight variation for hours on end. It was how they amused themselves to pass the time. Was this how Saraswati was answering my prayer for wisdom?
Arriving finally in Delhi at the end of the eight hour ride, we disembarked from the bus and I addressed the lead heckler, a huge man wearing a bright orange kurta and black, western pants, "You have made this the worst trip in my life, but I still know that God is in your heart."
The haughty mask of his face suddenly cracked, his upper lip quivered and he burst into tears. Kneeling on the ground he touched his forehead to my dusty feet and sobbed,
"Forgive me, swami, please forgive me."
Craving a cold shower I checked in at the Palace Heights off Connaught Place, a cheap hotel that I had heard was friendly to westerners. Once in the room I discovered that there were no showers and that I would have to bathe Indian style, using a cup to pour the tepid water as I squatted over the drain in the floor. Afterward I went out on the terrace overlooking the city and sank into a comfortable chair. Finding a Guru was proving to be a lot harder than I imagined. I wished that I could connect with Maharajji, the Guru that had initiated Ram Dass into the path of the heart and had been my original inspiration to go to India; however, I didn't have his address. It had never occurred to me to get that before leaving home. I had assumed that Swami Chidananda was my Guru.
In a few minutes, seemingly in answer to my thoughts, a couple of Americans came out on the porch and we struck up a conversation. They said that Maharajji was not far away, in Vrindavan, the town where Krishna had spent his youth. He was in the Hanuman temple and gave darshan twice a day. This exciting news inspired me to leave the next morning in search of Neem Karoli Baba.
It was only a few hours by train to Mathura, and then ten kilometers further to Vrindavan. I expected that Krishna's birthplace would be as beautiful as in the ubiquitous, hippie posters, with blissful cows and peacocks gazing at the gopis who were eternally in love with their lord; however, it turned out to be just another crowded town where the gutter was an open sewer. [1] (Gopis, cow-heard girls, particularly those devoted to Lord Krishna). Not seeing any gopis or feeling the presence of Krishna, I boarded a rickshaw for Vrindavan. There I found the cheap hotel where Maharajji devotees stayed and got a room. But, where was the Hanuman temple and how would I get there? I sat on the bed, perplexed. Finally, hoping I would run into someone who knew how to reach the Hanuman temple, I opened the door and went outside into the corridor. Suddenly, the next door opened and a tall, balding man with a grey, scraggly beard emerged. Our gazes met and an endearing smile appeared on his face. I realized with a shock, Ram Dass!
“So, what brings you here?” he asked.
"Actually, you did," I confessed. "I heard your interview on public radio in New York."
"Ahhh," he sighed, knowingly.
I didn't discover until later that he regretted that publicity that had attracted so many to seek out his Guru. Now he no longer had Maharajji to himself, but had to share him with a throng of spiritually starved American hippies.
Since the moment seemed appropriate, I got up the courage to ask the question that had been on my mind since I had first heard that interview, "Do you think Maharajji could be my Guru too?"
"Well, it’s certainly obvious that you’ve been called here. You’ll just have to go and check him out, won’t you? It might take awhile but in time you’ll know."
“You really think I've been called here?" I said in amazement, wondering if this was the confirmation I sought.
“Well, you’re here aren’t you? You couldn't be here if you weren't meant to be here, right?"
“Yes, I guess so,” I agreed, forced to accept his irrefutable logic.
Ram Dass gave directions on how to reach the temple, then excused himself to return to his room,
"I'm going back into Samadhi now. I was meditating and Maharajji told me to come outside. I guess it was to give you directions, so he must be expecting you."
I thanked him and returned to my own room to meditate, but I was so excited at the thought that Maharajji was expecting me and had sent Ram Dass to give directions that I paced the floor, hardly able to wait to see him.
As I was burning with impatience, I left the hotel. Since I had plenty of time before darshan I decided to search for the forest where Krishna had played his flute and danced with the gopis; but after walking down a dirty, crowded street in the direction people pointed, I found only a few stunted trees in a sandy lot.
As I began walking back to the center of town I encountered another westerner, who introduced himself as Ravi Das. He was also there to see Maharajji. Walking together he said,
"I think I just met my Guru."
"Really? You mean Maharajji is not your Guru?"
"Well, I thought he was when he gave me my name, but he has never said anything to me since then. Anyway, I was just walking along and this sadhu comes up to me, looks me in the eye, and says, 'My son, I am your Guru and I want you to take me to America.' I don't know what to think; he seemed so sure. He told me to come back tomorrow and he would initiate me."
As we walked back to the hotel I thought of Wristwatch Baba, and wondered how many sadhus there were who were total fakes, and how many of them ended up in America where a lot of gullible kids believed everything they said.
Finally, the time had arrived to visit the temple. Following the directions Ram Dass had given, I hoped to attend the evening darshan. He had said it would take about forty-five minutes on foot but after a while I began to feel lost. The barren road just meandered through the fields toward the horizon. Since India was teeming with noisy life everywhere, to be suddenly alone created the feeling that something was wrong. It felt surreal, as if I was between worlds, the past gone but the future had not yet arrived. I floated in a void of no reference points to anything with which I was familiar. A part of me wanted to turn around and go back, yet another part continued to draw me forward. I wondered where I was being lead—and for what purpose?
Finally I came to a crossroads that seemed to resemble the one Ram Dass had described, and I turned onto a dirt road. Sure enough, there was the small temple surrounded by a wall. After I took a few paces a gate opened and Ram Dass emerged with half a dozen westerners in white.
“You're too late!" Ram Dass shouted, upset.
"Too late for darshan?"
“No, too late, period. Maharajji said jao—split—go away. When we get too attached to his form he sends us away. Come on, we’re all going back to town.”
Rejected again by the Guru! I felt that my trip to India had been for nothing. Perhaps I didn't even have a Guru?
As we walked back toward Vrindavan I looked at the people walking beside me and wondered what had brought them all here. What force had touched their hearts in the streets of the cities, in the rural villages, in the communes of America, to inspire them to come all the way to India—to walk the dusty, sweltering roads and sit at the feet of an old man in a blanket?
I looked at the girl beside me who could have been the "girl next door," wearing a sari, with a scarf over her head that restrained her golden hair. After introducing myself I asked her name,
"Karuna. It was Susan Wolfe but Maharajji calls me Karuna."
"So, what brrought you here?"
"One day right after high school graduation in Des Moines my boyfriend, John, and I were looking through, Be Here Now, and the moment I saw Maharajji's picture I knew I had to see him. I couldn't explain it. My boyfriend had a job waiting for him, but he was very sweet and said, 'Do what you need to do and I'll wait for you'. We wanted to get married, but I'm waiting for Maharajji's blessing. I have surrendered to the Guru, so I can only do what he says."
"How long have you been here?"
"A year."
"Doesn't your boyfriend miss you?"
"Oh, yes, he's so sweet, but I can't go home until Maharajji gives me his blessing."
Then I turned to the guy on my other side, Ted, who I discovered was the only other person in the group apart from me who had not asked Maharajji for a Hindu name.
"So, Ted, what brings you here?"
"Well, I work for a company in the San Francisco area that puts on rock concerts. We put up tents. But, since it was holiday time and there were no concerts, I had a month off and wanted to go somewhere, some place new I'd never been before. The idea, 'India!' popped into my head and I thought, 'Why not?' I had just enough money saved, so I bought a ticket."
"But how did you decide to come see Maharajji? Were you on some spiritual path?"
"No, I don't do yoga, meditate or do anything spiritual. I just wanted to go someplace new, someplace warm."
"So, what brought you to Maharajji?"
"Well, after I got off the plane in Delhi I took the shuttle into town, then got into a rickshaw and asked to go to the train station. There was a train just leaving so I got on board. I had no idea where it was going. I just wanted to get out of the city and see some of India. After a while I became bored with the train and got off. I didn't know where I was, but at the station there was a guy in a bicycle rickshaw beckoning. He told me to get in, so I did. He rode way out into the country, then stopped and told me to get out. That was right here. Just as I was wondering where I was and what to do, that door in the wall opened and Ram Dass, whom I recognized from a magazine, came out and said, 'Come in or you'll be late for darshan.' So, here I am."
As we walked we began discussing what to do next. One of the devotees said, “Hey, I've got an idea, let’s go to Varanasi. It's supposed to be the holiest city in India. Hindus go there when close to death because they believe that if you die in Varanasi your soul goes straight to Vaikuntha (Heaven).”
“Yeah, and a lot of Gurus have their ashrams there too," someone agreed. "We could share a houseboat on the Ganges for almost nothing."
Before I realized what had happened I found myself included in the Maharajji satsang, and on my way to Varanasi.[2] (Satsang, literally the company of truth. A group that follows a common Guru or spiritual teaching).
The first time the questions were asked I replied, "I'm living on savings. I have one old car and I am seeking enlightenment."
"Ha! Ha!" they shouted to each other, "He's seeking enlightenment! What a joke!"
Then the questions repeated with only slight variation for hours on end. It was how they amused themselves to pass the time. Was this how Saraswati was answering my prayer for wisdom?
Arriving finally in Delhi at the end of the eight hour ride, we disembarked from the bus and I addressed the lead heckler, a huge man wearing a bright orange kurta and black, western pants, "You have made this the worst trip in my life, but I still know that God is in your heart."
The haughty mask of his face suddenly cracked, his upper lip quivered and he burst into tears. Kneeling on the ground he touched his forehead to my dusty feet and sobbed,
"Forgive me, swami, please forgive me."
Craving a cold shower I checked in at the Palace Heights off Connaught Place, a cheap hotel that I had heard was friendly to westerners. Once in the room I discovered that there were no showers and that I would have to bathe Indian style, using a cup to pour the tepid water as I squatted over the drain in the floor. Afterward I went out on the terrace overlooking the city and sank into a comfortable chair. Finding a Guru was proving to be a lot harder than I imagined. I wished that I could connect with Maharajji, the Guru that had initiated Ram Dass into the path of the heart and had been my original inspiration to go to India; however, I didn't have his address. It had never occurred to me to get that before leaving home. I had assumed that Swami Chidananda was my Guru.
In a few minutes, seemingly in answer to my thoughts, a couple of Americans came out on the porch and we struck up a conversation. They said that Maharajji was not far away, in Vrindavan, the town where Krishna had spent his youth. He was in the Hanuman temple and gave darshan twice a day. This exciting news inspired me to leave the next morning in search of Neem Karoli Baba.
It was only a few hours by train to Mathura, and then ten kilometers further to Vrindavan. I expected that Krishna's birthplace would be as beautiful as in the ubiquitous, hippie posters, with blissful cows and peacocks gazing at the gopis who were eternally in love with their lord; however, it turned out to be just another crowded town where the gutter was an open sewer. [1] (Gopis, cow-heard girls, particularly those devoted to Lord Krishna). Not seeing any gopis or feeling the presence of Krishna, I boarded a rickshaw for Vrindavan. There I found the cheap hotel where Maharajji devotees stayed and got a room. But, where was the Hanuman temple and how would I get there? I sat on the bed, perplexed. Finally, hoping I would run into someone who knew how to reach the Hanuman temple, I opened the door and went outside into the corridor. Suddenly, the next door opened and a tall, balding man with a grey, scraggly beard emerged. Our gazes met and an endearing smile appeared on his face. I realized with a shock, Ram Dass!
“So, what brings you here?” he asked.
"Actually, you did," I confessed. "I heard your interview on public radio in New York."
"Ahhh," he sighed, knowingly.
I didn't discover until later that he regretted that publicity that had attracted so many to seek out his Guru. Now he no longer had Maharajji to himself, but had to share him with a throng of spiritually starved American hippies.
Since the moment seemed appropriate, I got up the courage to ask the question that had been on my mind since I had first heard that interview, "Do you think Maharajji could be my Guru too?"
"Well, it’s certainly obvious that you’ve been called here. You’ll just have to go and check him out, won’t you? It might take awhile but in time you’ll know."
“You really think I've been called here?" I said in amazement, wondering if this was the confirmation I sought.
“Well, you’re here aren’t you? You couldn't be here if you weren't meant to be here, right?"
“Yes, I guess so,” I agreed, forced to accept his irrefutable logic.
Ram Dass gave directions on how to reach the temple, then excused himself to return to his room,
"I'm going back into Samadhi now. I was meditating and Maharajji told me to come outside. I guess it was to give you directions, so he must be expecting you."
I thanked him and returned to my own room to meditate, but I was so excited at the thought that Maharajji was expecting me and had sent Ram Dass to give directions that I paced the floor, hardly able to wait to see him.
As I was burning with impatience, I left the hotel. Since I had plenty of time before darshan I decided to search for the forest where Krishna had played his flute and danced with the gopis; but after walking down a dirty, crowded street in the direction people pointed, I found only a few stunted trees in a sandy lot.
As I began walking back to the center of town I encountered another westerner, who introduced himself as Ravi Das. He was also there to see Maharajji. Walking together he said,
"I think I just met my Guru."
"Really? You mean Maharajji is not your Guru?"
"Well, I thought he was when he gave me my name, but he has never said anything to me since then. Anyway, I was just walking along and this sadhu comes up to me, looks me in the eye, and says, 'My son, I am your Guru and I want you to take me to America.' I don't know what to think; he seemed so sure. He told me to come back tomorrow and he would initiate me."
As we walked back to the hotel I thought of Wristwatch Baba, and wondered how many sadhus there were who were total fakes, and how many of them ended up in America where a lot of gullible kids believed everything they said.
Finally, the time had arrived to visit the temple. Following the directions Ram Dass had given, I hoped to attend the evening darshan. He had said it would take about forty-five minutes on foot but after a while I began to feel lost. The barren road just meandered through the fields toward the horizon. Since India was teeming with noisy life everywhere, to be suddenly alone created the feeling that something was wrong. It felt surreal, as if I was between worlds, the past gone but the future had not yet arrived. I floated in a void of no reference points to anything with which I was familiar. A part of me wanted to turn around and go back, yet another part continued to draw me forward. I wondered where I was being lead—and for what purpose?
Finally I came to a crossroads that seemed to resemble the one Ram Dass had described, and I turned onto a dirt road. Sure enough, there was the small temple surrounded by a wall. After I took a few paces a gate opened and Ram Dass emerged with half a dozen westerners in white.
“You're too late!" Ram Dass shouted, upset.
"Too late for darshan?"
“No, too late, period. Maharajji said jao—split—go away. When we get too attached to his form he sends us away. Come on, we’re all going back to town.”
Rejected again by the Guru! I felt that my trip to India had been for nothing. Perhaps I didn't even have a Guru?
As we walked back toward Vrindavan I looked at the people walking beside me and wondered what had brought them all here. What force had touched their hearts in the streets of the cities, in the rural villages, in the communes of America, to inspire them to come all the way to India—to walk the dusty, sweltering roads and sit at the feet of an old man in a blanket?
I looked at the girl beside me who could have been the "girl next door," wearing a sari, with a scarf over her head that restrained her golden hair. After introducing myself I asked her name,
"Karuna. It was Susan Wolfe but Maharajji calls me Karuna."
"So, what brrought you here?"
"One day right after high school graduation in Des Moines my boyfriend, John, and I were looking through, Be Here Now, and the moment I saw Maharajji's picture I knew I had to see him. I couldn't explain it. My boyfriend had a job waiting for him, but he was very sweet and said, 'Do what you need to do and I'll wait for you'. We wanted to get married, but I'm waiting for Maharajji's blessing. I have surrendered to the Guru, so I can only do what he says."
"How long have you been here?"
"A year."
"Doesn't your boyfriend miss you?"
"Oh, yes, he's so sweet, but I can't go home until Maharajji gives me his blessing."
Then I turned to the guy on my other side, Ted, who I discovered was the only other person in the group apart from me who had not asked Maharajji for a Hindu name.
"So, Ted, what brings you here?"
"Well, I work for a company in the San Francisco area that puts on rock concerts. We put up tents. But, since it was holiday time and there were no concerts, I had a month off and wanted to go somewhere, some place new I'd never been before. The idea, 'India!' popped into my head and I thought, 'Why not?' I had just enough money saved, so I bought a ticket."
"But how did you decide to come see Maharajji? Were you on some spiritual path?"
"No, I don't do yoga, meditate or do anything spiritual. I just wanted to go someplace new, someplace warm."
"So, what brought you to Maharajji?"
"Well, after I got off the plane in Delhi I took the shuttle into town, then got into a rickshaw and asked to go to the train station. There was a train just leaving so I got on board. I had no idea where it was going. I just wanted to get out of the city and see some of India. After a while I became bored with the train and got off. I didn't know where I was, but at the station there was a guy in a bicycle rickshaw beckoning. He told me to get in, so I did. He rode way out into the country, then stopped and told me to get out. That was right here. Just as I was wondering where I was and what to do, that door in the wall opened and Ram Dass, whom I recognized from a magazine, came out and said, 'Come in or you'll be late for darshan.' So, here I am."
As we walked we began discussing what to do next. One of the devotees said, “Hey, I've got an idea, let’s go to Varanasi. It's supposed to be the holiest city in India. Hindus go there when close to death because they believe that if you die in Varanasi your soul goes straight to Vaikuntha (Heaven).”
“Yeah, and a lot of Gurus have their ashrams there too," someone agreed. "We could share a houseboat on the Ganges for almost nothing."
Before I realized what had happened I found myself included in the Maharajji satsang, and on my way to Varanasi.[2] (Satsang, literally the company of truth. A group that follows a common Guru or spiritual teaching).
CHAPTER 48
JUDGE NOT
After the one-to-one meeting with Sai Baba I decided to stay a bit longer. At night I slept outside his door on a straw mat, making myself completely available in case he was awake at night and wanted to talk. At least I would absorb some spiritual radiation by being that close. Although the door never opened, he did come to visit in dreams—and in that plane he taught more than would be possible in a physical meeting. When he appeared in those dreams there would be a shock of love like an explosion in the center of my being, followed by a mind-to-mind transmission of spiritual mysteries providing an illumination my soul craved.As his birthday approached and thousands of people arrived every day for the celebration, I was told I could no longer sleep outside his door. I would have to move to the "shed," a building under construction that was presently just pillars supporting a metal roof over a sand floor. I staked out a spot and unrolled a mat, putting backpack at the foot and cooking gear at the head. Since there were no walls, wild dogs came in at night, sniffed out food and stole what they could. They were sickly, possibly rabid, and we were told to sleep with a stick by our sides to beat them off.
I would be awakened by people's shouts at these dogs, and occasionally hear the "thwack" of a stick hitting a dog's flank. I prayed before going to sleep that I would not be disturbed by any of these pathetic creatures, and drew a mental circle of light around my sleeping area. That visualization worked for a while, until one night woke to find that a dog had entered the magic circle and, worse, was lying against my body. Yet, instead of repugnance, I felt bliss, every cell seeming to be illumined by an inner sun.
Gradually as human consciousness stirred, I awoke to the realization that the head of a huge black dog was pressed against my heart, and his mouth was only a short distance from mine. As his eyes looked soulfully into mine, I raised my head and saw that his body was covered in mange and that his bare skin was pocked with open sores. In a flash, I was wide-awake and on my feet, the stick raised menacingly over my head. "Get out, get out!" I shouted.
At my threats the thin beast rose to its feet and hobbled out of range, looking back over its shoulder with a hurt, sorrowful look. Its dark eyes penetrated my soul, and at that moment I realized the bliss was gone and the light had gone out. With a seemingly human whimper, the enigmatic creature scampered off into the night.
As the last of the adrenaline drained away, the cool, jasmine scented night air brought me back to my senses. Still, I was haunted by the memory of those penetrating eyes and the bliss that had filled my body. I lay down again on the mat and went over what had happened. As I drifted off, I realized the fragrance in the air was not jasmine, but the unique fragrance of Sai Baba's vibhuti, the ash he materializes as a sign of his grace.
In the morning I sat on a wall by the shed, eating an orange and contemplating the experience with the dog the night before. A man holding a book about Sai Baba sat down on the wall next to me and started to talk about the book's fascinating stories. "Here's one," the stranger began, "It's about a woman who baked some sweets to take to Baba. She put them in the window to cool, but a big, black dog came along and ate them. She ran outside and beat the dog with a stick. The next day when she went to see Baba she apologized,
"Baba, I made some sweets for you but a dog took them."
"Yes, why did you beat me when I ate them?"
"Pulling up his robe, he showed the woman his side, which was black and blue. Then the woman realized that the dog had been Swami."
I would be awakened by people's shouts at these dogs, and occasionally hear the "thwack" of a stick hitting a dog's flank. I prayed before going to sleep that I would not be disturbed by any of these pathetic creatures, and drew a mental circle of light around my sleeping area. That visualization worked for a while, until one night woke to find that a dog had entered the magic circle and, worse, was lying against my body. Yet, instead of repugnance, I felt bliss, every cell seeming to be illumined by an inner sun.
Gradually as human consciousness stirred, I awoke to the realization that the head of a huge black dog was pressed against my heart, and his mouth was only a short distance from mine. As his eyes looked soulfully into mine, I raised my head and saw that his body was covered in mange and that his bare skin was pocked with open sores. In a flash, I was wide-awake and on my feet, the stick raised menacingly over my head. "Get out, get out!" I shouted.
At my threats the thin beast rose to its feet and hobbled out of range, looking back over its shoulder with a hurt, sorrowful look. Its dark eyes penetrated my soul, and at that moment I realized the bliss was gone and the light had gone out. With a seemingly human whimper, the enigmatic creature scampered off into the night.
As the last of the adrenaline drained away, the cool, jasmine scented night air brought me back to my senses. Still, I was haunted by the memory of those penetrating eyes and the bliss that had filled my body. I lay down again on the mat and went over what had happened. As I drifted off, I realized the fragrance in the air was not jasmine, but the unique fragrance of Sai Baba's vibhuti, the ash he materializes as a sign of his grace.
In the morning I sat on a wall by the shed, eating an orange and contemplating the experience with the dog the night before. A man holding a book about Sai Baba sat down on the wall next to me and started to talk about the book's fascinating stories. "Here's one," the stranger began, "It's about a woman who baked some sweets to take to Baba. She put them in the window to cool, but a big, black dog came along and ate them. She ran outside and beat the dog with a stick. The next day when she went to see Baba she apologized,
"Baba, I made some sweets for you but a dog took them."
"Yes, why did you beat me when I ate them?"
"Pulling up his robe, he showed the woman his side, which was black and blue. Then the woman realized that the dog had been Swami."
Peter Mt. Shasta and Sathya Sai Baba photo, German Bakery, Puttaparthi, India, 2007.
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