When we reach Bangalore, we go straight to the Aurobindo Bhavan. Even if Bangalore is losing reputation as “the garden city,” certainly this area is holding its own with its broad spreading trees and large lake. The manager is always happy for the extra income: 25 rupees per day. After we get settled, the first task is to find a bus to Kottagiri for Parvati. As it turns out, Vani, the American at the Bhavan, has just returned from there by bus—two times—so she knows the ropes. Two trips were necessary because she packs around so much stuff, including a kerosene stove so she won’t have to eat out, that it is impossible to handle it all in one journey. The buses to Kottagiri are private lines; therefore, they leave from some unnamed back street.

In the meantime, I hear Parvati’s story. She knows English so well because she had lived and worked outside London as a nurse maid for the children of an heiress reputed to be India’s richest woman. A widow, who inherited a huge fortune, mostly in tea, owned plantations in Kottagiri and had met Parvati there. Parvati, like all such household help in London, was paid about one-fifth the normal wage for domestic help in London; even so it was good money for Parvati. The agreement was that the woman would be making a monthly deposit in a savings account in Parvati’s name. After two years when Parvati wanted to return home, her boss refused to release the savings and her passport.

Fortunately, Parvati spoke enough English and was smart enough to find an attorney. He was able to get her passport returned along with her ticket to India, for the Government requires the return transportation. However, he was not able to recoup her back wages. However, the kind lawyer was able to find Parvati a job with another lady during the litigation period of almost three months. Therefore, she was able to earn a little money to bring back to show for her two years of work. She assures me that there are hundreds of poor uneducated Indian women trapped in England today under the same circumstances, but they are too intimidated to approach an attorney. Besides, the majority cannot speak a word of English. I recently read of a similar story of a young woman who went to U.S. This exploitation is not traditional; when a Greek historian wrote of Bharata 2,000 years ago, he specifically commented he never saw a single slave in all of his travels. He was quite impressed.

The timing of my return is perfect as Usha is here for two days to celebrate Akshay’s birthday. Of course, she gets a great laugh over my experience at Sahaja’s ashram. “Nancy, you are supposed to be the worldly-wise American. How could you be so naive?” she teases me. “I don’t know which is funnier; your innocence or his giving himself away.”

Through my correspondence with her, Swami Sahajananda had offered Usha the job as headmistress of their new school, scheduled to open in September. She had not bothered to arrange an interview because Hari had warned her, “Don’t waste your time going out there. Those three swaminis will never let you do things the way you want to.” He was certainly perceptive on that score, and he had only met them once.

I love seeing Usha and Hari together. They are both such special people. Although I know them well enough to perceive their personal differences, which have made their marriage difficult, I will always feel that if the outer world had been more caring, they could have contributed something special to their world. I am not one to dismiss others’ hardships with a “it’s just their karma.” In their case, it is easy to perceive if their families had been kinder to them, they would not have to be just struggling for survival.

A priority is taking care of a filling that I broke while chewing on some peanut brittle—that I had bought for Jagdish. I checked out a dentist in a modern building that I pass on my daily walks to the library. I find him quite competent with an office equipped with all the latest dental apparatus, imported from Japan. He quotes me a very low price for a platinum crown. His office is so busy that he even talks on his cordless phone at the same time he is working on a patient’s teeth. However, he does take time to inform me that “you people” are more prone to cavities than the Asians.

While I am waiting in his office after the initial examination, he escorts another gentleman into his office to wait. I immediately strike up a conversation with the handsome, elderly man. He tells me that, although he spent his adult life in France, he was originally from Coorg. I know very little of Coorg, as it lies in an isolated pocket in the mountains of south Karnataka. Apparently, it is not isolated enough though. For when I ask the gentleman something about the region, he gives me an interesting description of progress in the outback.

“Oh, nothing is the same there now. When I was a boy, before the missionaries arrived, it was such a beautiful place. All the women had the most beautiful breasts; they all went topless, of course. Since their breasts were exposed, they kept them up with massage and oils. Then, because of the puritans, they were made to cover everything. Now they don’t pay any attention to their breasts and just let them hang. It’s such a shame,” his lamentation is quite sincere.

“But the Brits had you Indians fooled. It was not just for their Puritan values that they wanted you covered. Lets face it, except for a very few, the Brits in India had no religious motives whatsoever. The goal of the Empire was to put cloth manufactured in Manchester on the back of every human being. The government made it clear, even to the missionaries, that this was their solemn duty.”

“Well, it is certainly true that the Empire was about economy. The poor, impoverished India that we know today is what the British left, not what they found here.”

I see Hari almost daily. He is a great source of information and has directed me to all the major libraries with collections in English. Typical of Indian cities, spiritual discourses are given by a scholar or swami somewhere every night. Each of the vernacular languages has its own spiritual texts and literary works. They are usually interwoven, since most Hindu language, art and literature are based on a spiritual life. The word for “god” in Tamil literally means: “the source within.” However, I am fortunate that in the cities there are always swamis who lecture in English. Of course, Hari knows everything that’s going on, so we hop on his motor scooter and wheel around town.

One evening we go to hear Swami Ishwarananda Giri from Mt. Abu, who gives an interesting lecture on creativity. He explains that when we give a child a pencil, he will simply want to express. However, we will not leave him in a creative mode, but force him into purposeful activity with comments like: “What is that?” “Why did you draw that?” “What is it for?” “Why don’t you draw this?” He maintains that in creative, expressive beauty, the mind remains quiet, without movement. In purposeful, planned activity, the mind follows desire: the desire to please the parents and teachers in the case of the child. Naturalness comes from abandonment, no purpose. Whereas, my first response is “what am I supposed to do?”

When I have an opportunity after the lecture, I ask him, “How do we distinguish between expressive, spontaneous action that is truly creative, and one which is simply impulsive? Can’t we fool ourselves?”

“The impulsive lacks the elevating and beautiful qualities that we find in creative inspiration. Creative activity is characterized by intense concentration preceding it, and a flash of rapport succeeding it.”

Hari also took me to visit a study group of some retired businessmen. Studying the scriptures is a common pastime for the retired, especially high-caste, men. I have never encountered so many bright-eyed, intelligent, dignified gentlemen over 70 years of age in all of my travels through U.S and Europe combined, as I have in my short time in India. There are no dirty old men, no sexy senior citizens, no off-color jokes, no depravity. A religion and culture that can produce such dignified gentle-men must have truly something of value.

Anyway, among the group is a very special person; “the cartman” he is nicknamed. The cartman is a retired director of a highly regarded I.C.C. Engineering College. After retirement, he has dedicated his time to the cause of developing an oxen yoke from a synthetic material that is lighter than wood; therefore, more humane. In addition, it would have practical value too. Since the animals will not tire as easily, they can work longer. The biggest obstacle is financial. The local farmer just does not have funds to buy a new yoke for the sake of his animals. The cartman has approached the state government of Karnataka with the idea that they could purchase several of his yokes as a trial.

Finally, after months of waiting, he received a call from the Karnataka state agricultural department for an order. He was quite elated, and asked about the delivery date. “Delivery date? What delivery? We don’t actually want the yokes,” he was informed. They only wanted a receipt showing purchase of the yokes, so they could account for some funds paid out.

Karnataka is said to be of the worse states for corruption. I have had several first-hand—and very frustrated—reports that even the clerks that take the payments for taxes are insisting on a bribe to accept the money and write the receipt. Bribes to get building permits or have electricity installed is institutionalized. Others insist that corruption is so pervasive here that the bus drivers have a business in selling tires. They have regular pit stops where a crew changes the good tires for very old ones, which soon have to be replaced, so they can repeat the process. Reports say they sell them back to the state purchasers, for a cut, of course.

One of the best things about my stay at Sahaja’s was the people I met who were guests. I particularly enjoyed the people who were planning on developing the Gandhi Village. One couple, the Bragarias, was young and liberal, so we hit it off right away. When I told them about my writing and editing, they volunteered that they had several computers in their office. I remain very appreciative of this assistance.

So working on the next magazine issue is quite convenient. The Bragarias’ office is only a 10-minute walk from the Bhavan. One day when I arrive, they are anxiously awaiting me. They need my assistance. Mr. Bragaria has to be out of town, on a business trip to Switzerland, at the very time that his wife is receiving a male house guest. The friend from U.S. is a former classmate from her student days when she received her doctorate in chemistry. The catch is that she cannot have a male house guest when her husband is not in the house, even though live-in servants would be present. They came with the plan that I can transfer over to their house to be the official chaperon, then I will be welcome to stay until I leave on my next adventure in a couple of weeks. I had already asked them if I could store my extra suitcases at their home while I was traveling, and I am using their computer, so this small favor seemed inane enough.

However, there is one catch that I never thought of. They live out in the suburbs, so I can no longer walk to the office and library. I become dependent on Indian buses; no schedules, of course. I leave the house early, so I usually get a seat, but the bus is crowded by the time we arrive in town. There is not much natural scenery, so I entertain myself with watching the Indian women drag their beautiful saris down the aisles to clean the floor. One beauty, with her long wool shawl thrown with an air of abandon over one shoulder, drags the end over the steps as she steps out of the bus. Individual acts of public service, for I suspect this is the only sweeping the buses ever get.

When the husband arrives home from his trip, the dinner hour gets later and later as he extends his cocktail hour. Since we usually have tiffin at 5:30 p.m. or so, the snack becomes my dinner. Otherwise, I am forced to be up until midnight when dinner is over. Since I leave the house by 6:00 a.m., I have to be in bed at a decent hour. When I make an effort to cook something special, like grilled cheese sandwiches, for tiffin, Bragaria remains in his room. He has many sides, and certainly can be a congenial host. However, he sometimes falls into making into subtle barbs.

“How’s your spirituality going,” he queries me one day with a smirk.

“How does one measure spiritual evolution? To me it seems to be a process and we just keep going with it. Anyway, the one and only reason I’m in the city is to work on the magazine. So my only goal is to finish this issue.”

Then I make a big mistake. In a friendly conversation with several guests, I happen to mention that Mrs. Bragaria is independent. Well, she had received her doctorate in chemistry in U.S. prior to marriage. For some reason, the husband jumped on me in such a rude manner that was quite embarrassing. I had no idea what I had done wrong, so just kept silent. He even told me I could just get out of the house if I were going to talk that way. What in the world did I say?

I really want to escape, but, somehow I manage to make it through dinner, then I sit down and say to myself, “What is this all about?” I have been attacked before, so part of it is a charge from repeated past history. But isn’t it really the search for security, comfort, certainty. How can there ever be security in a changing, impermanent reality? Somehow, I have to accept the insecurity, discomfort and uncertainty of every moment. I sit in uncertainty as a big circle of heat grows in my lower stomach.

The next day the heat and discomfort are still there. I am just moving from stored up memory. I feel like when you have a hundred things to do, but you don’t do anything because you just don’t know where to start. I walk down the street, almost in a daze, with no interest in my surrounding environment. I would say we must have to go through this long socializing process, so that when we get the life-shocks, we are competent to go on functioning. Even though we may spend a lifetime building up walls of security, uncertainty is always there.

Actually, I feel my lesson to be learned now is hanging out with my discomfort. Then I pick up a Krishnamurti book and just open it randomly to any page. I read his words explaining that while we are really in a search for certainty, while we call it a spiritual pursuit. Further, he alleges that spiritual goals cannot be reached with certainty in our lives.

As it turns out, although Bragaria considers himself totally westernized since he has lived in both U. S. and Europe, he thinks “independent” means living separately. Therefore, he thought I was saying that his wife should be living separately from him. This interpretation hardly fit in the context, but we all hang different meanings on words.

I just keep doing what I have to do; soon enough, the issue on Subramanya, Ganesha’s older brother is edited and my introductory article is completed. I will share it because it illustrates an important aspect of the Hindu pantheon of deities. Bharata has always been a land of diverse cultures that had distinct names for their deities. When they came together, they did not look for the differences, but the similarities. Therefore, Subramanya in the North, Muruga in the South, and Skanda from somewhere in between are all considered one and the same deity.

Subramanya

Everyone can appreciate we have had religious philosophers on the planet who have espoused great ideals of the divine heritage of humanity in such maxims as “That [Infinite] thou art” and “the Kingdom of Heaven is within.” Appreciate, yes, but are the ideas useful in a world that leaves individuals no leisure to sit back and contemplate the great mysteries of the universe?

A uniqueness of the Vedic rshis [sages] is that they have contributed methods by which the theoretical Eternal Reality can be useful in a social reality. Then there were the instructions to the wise kings by their Brahman ministers who were responsible to see that each member of the community produced according to his talents, and received according to his needs. Further, the duties within the family group ensured a firm foundation for the development and security of the individuals. It is noteworthy that at each level—the country, the community and the family—the ideal was of mutual cooperation, never of competition.

Fundamental Ideal: The break-up of the small, manageable economic unit during the recent past of India’s history has eliminated the concept of community support, while the fundamental ideal of the support through cooperation of the gods and the family remains undisturbed. Fortunately, the rshis, in their wisdom, had given several legs to the support system, so that although one failed, the others remained.

The influence from the West has not unplugged the circuit to the gods nor to the fathers here. Even the most indifferent student runs to the temple with a coconut before exams. Why? A faith in the cooperation between humans and gods. A son knowingly overshoots his budget when buying a new car. Why? He depends on the mutual cooperation between father and son.

So while living a life of exemplary discipline themselves, the rshis have allowed that humans should experience their full share of pleasure in the world. However, a moment will arrive when one be satiated, therefore, ready to forsake the outgoing path of the world for the inward journey. Therefore, religion must have two branches: injunctions for getting along in the world of time, and insights for getting out of the world to That beyond time. To accomplish the first passage in life, the seers gave certain aids to remind us that the life of the senses is not the ultimate goal in life. These aids, presented in the form of divine deities, are pointers by which one can come to the Truth, or at least begin to look in that direction.

Many Forms: No Hindu deity enjoys more divine lineage, or more earthly duties, than Subramanya. He can claim direct parentage of such major deities as Lord Shiva, Agni [Lord Fire], Parvati [Shiva’s wife], Ganga and Himavan [Lord of the Mountains].

As if Subramanya has to please the wishes of all these great progenitors, he appears in many roles to satisfy the needs of the world of both gods and humans. As Skanda, God of War, he crushes the evil forces, both external and internal. When in the form of the Divine Child, Subramanya invokes the internal purity inherent in humanity. As Muruga, God of Love, he bestows grace on gods and humans alike. Appearing as the Guru of Wisdom, he imparts the eternal knowledge. On occasion, he is even extolled as the benefactor of thieves and robbers. So the seers portrayed him as one who is all things to all people.

Skanda, the God of War: In most of the Puranas, Skanda has prominence as a warrior. In the various stories, his birth was a response to the need of the deities for a commander-in-chief of their forces. At this particular time in history, Shiva, the traditional General, was occupied with various other endeavors. The epics state that he had been copulating with Parvati for over a month and everyone was afraid to disturb him. The key, in some of the accounts, was that a demon, Asura Taraka, had to be killed by a child. Therefore, Skanda plays the role of the child hero; a familiar theme in the Greek tradition in which Apollo, Hermes, and Zeus all began their careers as a child hero. They continued to maintain an identity with the child-image even when they matured into wise old men.

The Skanda Purana recounts the battle of the holy war of the forces of light and darkness. The six-day battle before victory on the seventh represents the advancement each individual must go through before he wins the holy war within his own soul. With his powerful celestial spear, Skanda is not only able to destroy the demons of selfishness and greed, but also able to pierce the pride of the hard-hearted intellectuals.

Muruga, the God of Love: The Vedic Upanisads are intellectual treatises that point to the Abstract. In contrast, in Tamil Nadu worship is expressly for the purpose of transcending the normal consciousness, so that one can enter another dimension and connect with the transforming power of the Abstract. Therefore, devotional love is a prominent element expressed in literary form as poems and songs to court the gods. Muruga has been a favorite and is usually portrayed as having two wives through whom his bliss and love are made manifest.
The Tamils have also added the dimension of associating this deity with the splendid expressions of nature in the lush, tropical settings of the South. Under the cathedral of the spreading banyan tree, in the rippling song of a river, in the aspiring heights of the mountain crests—the play of Muruga is extolled in lyrical poetry and song.

These songs, accompanied by various musical instruments, become the background for a spontaneous form of worship. The music is blended with ecstatic dancing to invite possession by the Deity. When the Divine descends, the worshipper or priest goes into a trance and is often able to perform miraculous healings.

Subramanya, the Divine Child: The image of a Divine Child, as a personification of pristine purity and perfection, is present in many religions. The child is begotten in a supernatural manner with direct intervention of the gods. In the case of Subramanya, he was born from the waters (Ganga), which represent depth of consciousness. He was parented by fire (Agni), the sentience in all things, but with the semen of Lord Shiva. The Divine Child neither ages nor dies, but remains untouched by time. He is frequently associated with an animal, a symbol of his integration with the life of the earth. Often he uses the animal as a vehicle for his travels as an intercessory between gods and man.

One may wonder whether the human tendency to idealize a child deity is a vestigial memory of our own childhood; that is, a golden age when the grass was greener, mangoes sweeter, mountains higher, and desires easier to fulfill. Since the Divine Child is super-human, others, including Carl Jung, rationalize that the idealization may be a remembrance of the pre-conscious, or childhood aspect of the collective psyche.

For whatever reason, we can personally experience that the sight of a Divine Child evokes the qualities of love, compassion and purity in ourselves—a return to innocence. In our daily lives of hustle and bustle, it does seem that we could reserve five minutes daily to return to this innocent state. In those moments, we can reaffirm that we are innocent of everything that we are doing or have done; we are innocent of all our failures or successes; innocent of all the conformities that our parents, families or societies have imposed upon us. We can surely touch that inherent innocence—it’s not that far away.

In case one finds this exercise difficult, the rshis have provided the image for us in the form of Subramanya/Muruga. For, the ideal is that the Divine Child is to be born in us. When it happens we will truly understand what is meant by a spiritual birth—an immaculate conception in a pure heart that lifts the soul to immortality.