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money in hand, I am ready to return to the cooler climes of the mountains.
En route, I decide to pause again in Andhra Pradesh. Considering I have
become a collector of experiences—any one will do—but it is best
if it is a new one! If I am going to investigate the unique manifestations
of the Hindu religion, certainly Satya Sai Baba cannot be missed. India’s
miracle man is famous all over the country, regardless of region or caste. Satya Sai Baba’s ashram is not on the beaten track. I have to take a train to Anantapur, from there I will have a two-hour bus trip. My train arrives late in the evening, so I opt for a retiring room in the railway station, which are normally available in small towns. The next morning I contact a family I had met at a meditation retreat in Madras. Since he is an official with the forest department, he insists upon arranging a ride to the ashram. Somehow he finds an associate from Puttaparthi, who had business here in the main office today. So off I go in a jeep on a very sunny afternoon—the usual in Anantapur District. Even though the monsoon has started in other parts of Andhra Pradesh, it remains mouth-puckering dry here. Upon approaching the small village, we notice the construction of an air strip in progress. An enterprise for the sake of the holy man, no doubt. Only he and his foreign devotees will be able to afford the flights in private planes. Puttaparthi, “the place of ant hills,” bears this unusual name due to a curse by a cobra that was killed by a local cowherd years ago. The cobra’s dying words were that the place would be filled with anthills. Prior to that curse, the village was a prosperous rural community where the chief occupation was cow herding. After the curse, the green meadows and dells began to dry up, so that there was no pasture available for the cattle. In hopes of alleviating the curse, the villagers built a small temple. In it they placed a stone with a red streak, a symbol of the blood of the dead cobra. Here, the cobra, or serpent, is not considered a symbol of evil, but a symbol of Life itself. When a young woman wants to get pregnant she places a cadeus carved on a black stone under a sacred pipal tree. To insult a cobra is to insult Life itself. Into a simple home in this poverty-stricken village, a baby boy was born to a pious couple in November 1926. Desiring a son, the mother had completed austerities, prayers and rituals. The baby, named SatyaNarayana, the Lord of Truth, was unusually handsome and alert. At an early age, the child became aware of the poverty of his neighbors and would bring them to his home for food. When the number of guests increased beyond a reasonable capacity, the family would try to send the beggars away. But the boy would weep and wail, until the elders had to call them back. However, they threatened him that he would get no food. He did not mind; he was content to go without food for the sake of others. Later, when he started handing out candy to his friends from an empty bag, the parents took things seriously. They even took him to the local temple where the priest performed horrific tortures with razor blades to exorcise the demon that could do such magic. Slim beginnings for the person who is now India’s most famous miracle man. There are two types of teachers in India, corresponding to the two basic paths to Truth. One is the path of knowledge, which is expounded by Vedanta through texts of the Upanisads and the Bhagavad Gita. As one intellectually understands the logic of the divine reality, ideally one comes closer and closer to encountering that Truth in oneself. In contrast, the path of devotion is based on adoration of the divine in another, whether god or guru. The devotee projects his own divinity on the guru or god. Through that projection or connection, his love of the divine increases until he realizes his own divinity. For me, I want logic and understanding. . . My path has been that of knowledge through the study of Vedanta. That does not mean that I cannot admire and respect those who are enlightened, that is, those who know their divine nature—no matter how they got to the goal. I think we need lots of models to prove to us the possibility of a human being enlightened—that we are more than we ever dreamed ourselves to be. As we enter Satya Sai Baba’s ashram, the officer drives me past the ornamental gates, down a lane crowded with white-washed buildings, and directly to the office. My passport and visa are carefully checked in the foreign registration section. After they pass inspection, I am directed to the Room Assignment Office where I am given a room to share with a European woman—ten day maximum stay. The rate is a mere 22 Rps. per room. The amount is to be divided among the number of occupants, so there is a small benefit to having roommates, but you do not get a choice. The ashram is like a small village unto itself, lots of blocks of apartment buildings, the temple complex, even a fruit and vegetable market. It is extremely Indian, even the temple is painted in a potpourri of bright pastel colors. Although there seems to be an air of tension among the foreigners, my first day is nice and peaceful. My roommate is an old-timer at the ashram, so she guides me as to when and where to attend the various events. I am glad that I got to enjoy one day of peace and quiet, for when the Master arrives the next day, a cavalcade of buses, cars, and taxis accompany him. Sai Baba is certainly a product of the Indian milieu. He must know it too because he has never traveled outside of India, and has declared that he never intends to do so. Since I can hardly qualify as a Sai Baba devotee, I intend to keep centered and do serious meditation while I am here. But that does not mean I plan to miss anything! At the crack of dawn, I am up at 3:30 a.m. to have a quick bath, a cup of tea, then some exercises to wake me up. Then I take off for the 4:30 a.m. temple ceremony. The temple is very ornate and is housed in the same building as Sai Baba’s private living quarters. Instead of paying attention to the rituals performed by the priests, I meditate through the ceremony. Each morning as I sit outside the temple waiting for the early morning bhajans to begin, I think, this is truly a beautiful activity. Everyone getting together under the gathering rain clouds, with trees swaying in the breeze, crows soaring above, sparrows pecking at the bugs and seeds— everyone getting together to sing the glory of the Creator. The big event of the day is Darshan, beholding of the master. The gates of the temple compound are always locked except for the couple of hours that there is a public function, so everyone has to line up outside the temple courtyard. Most of the crowd are the lower-class peasants who are hoping for blessings of a material nature to make their lives easier. If you ever had some notion that Indian women are passive, you should meet the dragon-ladies who are in charge here. Hindu and Buddhist temples always have sculpted griffins at the gates as protectors; these women serve the same purpose. One jumped on me like a tyrant because I had tucked my sari pallu (end) into my waist, thus exposing one arm that totally was covered by my blouse. “Let the pallu hang over that shoulder, or you won’t enter the temple gates,” she threatened. I will admit that it is the servants who wear the pallu tucked in, for since they are working they can't have their pallu floating around. While the men go through the same ropes on the other side of the temple, we women line up in rows of twenty persons, with up to twenty rows. This does not mean first come, first served. The first person in each row picks from a bag of numbered tokens to determine that line’s position for entering the holy gates. When time arrives for the seating inside to begin, we are given the signal to walk slowly to the gate. Seems very orderly for India, doesn’t it? Well, the gate is where the order ends. As soon as we enter the temple confines, all hell breaks loose, as everyone runs like a mad to get the best spot on the hot cement pavement. After everyone is seated, the master strolls out looking cool calm collected and extremely conscious. As I scrutinize him, I get a good feeling from his presence. He always looks completely peaceful and centered. Slowly and deliberately, he sweeps his eyes over the audience, so that everyone thinks he has looked directly at them, even me. Although one does not get that impression from his photos because of his thick neck and thicker afro hair, he is a delicate petite man. The line I am in does not hit number one of the lottery draw until the third day, which should insure me a front row seat. But I am no match for the village ladies, who come in droves. Somehow I end up on the second row, but it’s good enough. I feel quite excited when Sai Baba stops right in front of me to retrieve a letter from one person. Just as I am settled and focused enough to get a good gawk, I am knocked forward by the women behind me reaching out to touch him. He stands there for a few moments and gathers several letters, in which people always place their requests for his prayers and intervention. Even though I attempt to struggle out of the bearhold the women have me in, I have no relief until he moves on. Sai Baba always spends most of his time on the men’s side. Yes, Darshan is segregated, very common in all spiritual gatherings. Right after Darshan, Sai Baba picks out a dozen or so people to come into his room for a private interview. While I am here, he only chooses Sai Baba groups that are visiting from every part of the world—with one exception. The booklet of rules, which everyone receives when they register, states that Sai Baba chooses people seated for Darshan according to his Divine Will. In fact, it says that any attempt to use influence will be held against one. However, one evening when an Indian gentleman pulls up to the gate in a Rolls Royce in the middle of Darshan, we get an entirely different picture. He and his wife, along with a foreign woman who arrived with them, are escorted to Sai Baba’s private room immediately after Darshan. After all, donations from foreigners and wealthy Indians is what makes this brightly-painted paradise go round. After Darshan, breakfast is served. The food service is totally organized and very efficient. You buy tickets, different colors according to the rupee amount. Then you exchange tickets for the items that you want in the dining hall, which is set up cafeteria-style. The only problem occurs when the local village women push up in the front of the line, so you often find yourself moving backwards instead of forwards. These women have no awe of the “white faces,” but they must be happy that we are so passive and polite. They probably call us the “dumb faces.” Needless to mention, there is a separate dining hall for the men. I bet the village men stand politely in the lines there. Sai Baba says, “My life is my message”; not many of we earthlings can make such a statement. After morning bhajans, he leaves immediately for a trip to the hospital, school and college; all of which he has established here. He has daily meetings with the ashram managers and directors of all the on-going projects, including the new airport and hospital extension. I am disappointed that he does not support the traditional Indian medical system of Ayurveda. Although I am to find this is a trend: you take what the foreigners give you. I am surprised he is not an exception. Sai Baba is said to be, and calls himself, an Avatar, an Incarnation of the Divine. He declares that the Divine has to come in human form in order to be understood by men. If the Avatar should come to earth with his divine effulgence at full blast, no one could benefit because they could not comprehend his level. Traditionally, there are said to be ten Avatars. They are all incarnations of Lord Vishnu, who is the god who is responsible of the maintenance of the creation. All the Avatars have been of the Ksatriya caste, that is of royal lineage. Rama, Krsna, the Buddha—they were all monarchs of a feudal kingdom. Avatars have a duty to restore order (dharma) and set the people back on the path of righteousness. To fulfill this task takes courage and forbearance, the qualities of a Ksatriya. In the Mahabharata, an important sub-plot highlights this issue well. Karna had been born to a virgin princess through the intercession of the sun god. Fearing the consequences of bearing a child out of wedlock, Kunti placed the child in a basket to float down the river. As she had hoped, a kind couple, of the lower charioteer caste, found the baby and raised it as their own. Because of a special boon, given him by a wandering sage, Karna was able to get an education with a Brahman rshi, as if he too were a Brahman. The Guru noticed that Karna seemed to have a talent for archery that was not typical of his caste. One warm day while the student was fanning him, the Guru fell asleep on his knee. Unfortunately, a large wasp flew up and bit Karna, even drawing blood. When the Guru awakened, he questioned the boy about the wound. When Karna explained that he bore the pain of the sting because he did not want to move and disturb his teacher’s nap, the teacher knew what he had already suspected. “Only a Ksatriya could have bore that pain without a whimper,” declared the teacher. So this is the tough stuff from which Avatars are made; they have a tough job to do, even fighting in battles against evil. The Brahmans were the keepers of the laws of dharma, but the kings were the protectors, not only of the people, but of dharma. There is another reason for devotion to a guru. He has powers and he bestows grace for what are considered the Big Three here: health, wealth and progeny. Why doesn’t everyone profit equally from his grace? Sai Baba, our current Avatar, explains there are four channels of spiritual grace: 1) past karma, the personal factor from previous actions 2) past generations, the genetic factor, your ancestors earned it 3) sadhana, the self-effort we put forth in this lifetime 4) guru, the teacher who can remove some obstacles. Naturally, his healings of the sick and crippled are his most notable miracles. These healings are often effected through the vibuthi, or ash, that he produces out of thin air. Some people think that he has it up his sleeve. Although I have not attended the ceremonies personally, I have seen films of his Siva Ratri ceremony. Annually, he produces heaps of vibuthi in huge earthen jars—much more than could ever fit up any sleeve. However, his most popular miracles seem to be the production of gold jewelry, often gold chains, right out of thin air. He has always been clear that the miracles are not the goal of his teaching. Nevertheless, he has to get the attention of humanity, for that reason only he performs the miracles. I should say “did” because last year he entered the final phase of his mission on earth. He announced that he will now be centered on teaching the highest knowledge and will no long be performing such miracles as producing gold jewelry. There is no doubt that Sai Baba has healed many people. There are numerous first-hand reports. One book by an American psychologist recounts a raising from the dead of an American disciple. Sai Baba went right to the Madras morgue and retrieved the devotee, who had been laid out cold all day. Nevertheless, we are not given names and dates, so we cannot confirm the data. Although such occurrences are rare, they do occur here in India, and this is not the only time I have heard of such a miracle. However, many people at the ashram have been disappointed with the master. Every day there is a line of wheelchairs at Darshan, accompanied by a family member. I talked to one of the women; she has been here with her son for four years with no results. When the child was born with such a crippling disease that he would never be able to walk, Sai Baba told her, “Bring the boy to me.” When the guru speaks, everyone obeys. I suppose the rule is “if you do not want to obey, do not consult a guru.” So the woman brought her son here, and took an apartment in the Indian section. The rules are totally different for the foreigners and Indians. Indians can purchase a flat and have it for their own personal use. For the past four years, she has been wheeling the boy to Darshan every day. Finally, in desperation, she told Sai Baba, “I don’t understand. The boy is not getting better.” “Amma [Mother], it’s karma,” the Master replied. She was totally shocked. Then why did he say, “Bring the boy to me.” Living in an ashram had been a real sacrifice. If she had been in her own family home, the karma would have been a lot lighter. She would have had family members and servants to help with the child. She is now making arrangements to return home. Of course, the Master has never said he heals everyone. Otherwise, why would he have sponsored the construction of a hospital with western medical equipment here in town? The first few days, I keep noticing lots of hushed conversations and having a feeling that something strange was going on. My roommate finally fills me in on all the intrigue. Less than a month ago, a foreign woman had gone to the bank in the town to withdraw money with the intention of going to Bangalore where Sai Baba was residing for the month. Everyone figures that upon leaving the bank, she was approached by a couple of villagers and asked if she needed a coolie. Since she did, they accompanied her to her room to get her luggage. When they got there, they bludgeoned her to death, took her money, and disappeared. Since this is a very small town, they were caught by the local police within twenty-four hours. This sort of crime is extremely rare in India; actually, this is the first time I have heard of such a thing in all my travels. Am I getting all the information?—is a valid question. I do wonder if the incident was reported in any newspaper. The young woman’s brother came to India and questioned The Guru: “How could you let such a think happen?” “It’s karma, my son,” was the Master's only answer. As the days pass, I find out from my roommate that there have been two other tragedies here recently. Several months ago, Sai Baba had been personally escorting some foreigners through the final stages of the construction of his new museum, which has domes like a Hindu temple. The group had been standing under one of the domes, when Sai Baba turned and walked out the door. The next moment the roof collapsed, killing several of his guests. The apologists say that the guests did not follow the master as quickly as they should have. On another occasion, several European women had inappropriately spent the night outside confines of the ashram. They wanted to sleep beneath the tree where Sai Baba had begun his spiritual life by meditating and performing miracles when he was a small lad. One of the women had rolled down the hill and had died shortly afterwards from internal bleeding. Some opined that she had been pushed by the villagers trying to rob her. Others said she had been quite depressed from not getting attention from the Master. No one knows for sure what occurred. Because of the influence of my roommate, I happen to meet both of the ashram managers: one takes care of the finances and one takes care of the dirty work—like getting rid of any undesirables. A meeting of all the foreigners was called by this bouncer, a real bulldog. He appears in an up-roar because everyone has not showed up for his meeting. I venture to mention that the signs notifying us of the meeting were posted only an hour ago; perhaps that could be a factor. He is not interested in explanations; he vehemently declares that he will personally kick out of the ashram any foreigner not attending. It soon becomes apparent why many had chosen to avoid the meeting: the manager loves to hear himself talk. He does report that there have been some negative incidents—with foreigners involved—but gives no actual information. It is only because of my roommate that I have any idea what he is talking about. Then the manager moves on to the subject of a dress code, and the sin of eating any food outside the ashram. He says the ashram food is cooked with special mantras. The people sitting at the back begin to slip out the door. He yells at them, but they ignore him; I feel sure they have already heard this rap too many times. Visitors are continually coming and going. Since we have a couple of new women in our room, my original roommate decides to transfer over to “the barn.” I end up sharing the room with two delightful young women from Germany. The first one to arrive is an elementary school teacher. She is a wonderful inspiration and must be a joy to her students. The second one arrives a couple of days later. She has not figured out what she is going to do with her life yet. On one hand, she appears a drifter, yet she is equally determined in her quest to really find out what is important in life. On her third day here, she comes back from Darshan in a stew. “Those Indian ladies really make me furious. I just can’t help it; they just push you over, so you can’t see a thing.” The school teacher and I burst out laughing, “Oh, you did great. You lasted two days without complaining, that’s longer than most of us!” The barn, actually there are three or four of them, is a world unto itself. For 2 Rps. per night, you get enough space on the cement floor for a sleeping bag and suitcase. I would say each barn holds about one hundred people: three rows of about thirty people each. Everyone shares the large bathroom across the back. These quarters are the only option for the Indian guests as they are not allowed to stay in the buildings we are in. Plenty of foreigners stay in the barn too because of the cheap price. One day when I am looking in the barn for my friend to help her with a gardening project, I meet a lovely American in her early twenties. I particularly notice her because she is cooking on a kerosene stove. I tell her I would be willing to help her with money for food (it’s so cheap), since cooking rice and dal on a primitive stove can be quite a challenge. “No, thank you,” she tells me, then explains that she does not eat in the dining hall because she is busy doing guru seva (service to the guru) while the rest of us are eating. Later, my former roommate tells me the whole story. This young woman’s guru seva is to cook for the Master’s sister, who has an apartment here on the premises with all amenities possible. The young American woman goes there every morning after breakfast and prepares lunch for the family, including a twenty-something year old son. Here’s the corker: She cannot sit and eat the food she has prepared because she cannot sit at the same table with this young man. Single men and women do not sit at the same table together. So she serves them, then cleans up the dishes. By that time, the dining room is closed, so while everyone else is resting, she has to fire up her kerosene stove in the crowded, stuffy space of the barn. “But why doesn’t she just bring some of the food with her to make her life simple.” “Oh, no, they wouldn’t allow that. Food is expensive.” “Does she get any special dispensation from the Master for this seva—besides sleeping on a pallet in a barn and cooking over a kerosene stove?” I have to ask. “Well, she does get to have a private interview with him; I think she’s had one this year. He did send her a mango the other day, but it was rotten in the middle. She was very disappointed.” The temple and its compound, surrounded by high walls, are closed except for the specific times of public programs. Since there are three to four people in each hostel room, there is simply no quiet place to be found for meditation. I finally find a tree away from the crowd to sit and read or think in peace. However, I still have a lot of extra time. One morning I see an elderly man doing some gardening, so I ask if he can use any help. Immediately, it becomes apparent that I will not be able to do anything to his satisfaction; however, I do engage in some weed pulling and watering. After a few days, when he sees that I am willing to do the dirty work, he sort of warms up a bit. Then slowly from him and others, I piece together the story of his life here at the ashram. He retired and came here twenty years ago with his wife, who is crippled. I did not completely comprehend if she was crippled when they arrived, or became so later. Anyway, they live on the floor of one of the barns. I assume that they never had the money to buy a flat in the Indian quarters. Seeing this helpless lady lying out on a simple pallet is one of the saddest sights I have ever beheld. She is totally dependent on her husband to take her to the bathroom, bathe her, and feed her. The gentleman took on the task as ashram gardener as his guru seva. He tends the gardens around the buildings, but his master work was a large plot of ground at the back of the compound, he set to work to create a little paradise. His eyes lit up as he described the special trees and flowers he had procured from all parts to embellish his “Garden.” He had a special collection of seed foreigners had brought him. However, last year, in spite of the fact there is plenty of empty space in the ashram grounds, his garden was demolished. The exact site was deemed the best place to put the block building of condos for foreigners—a pretty lucrative business in itself. I meet several English women here who have already paid their 3,000 pounds to purchase a condo in one of the new block buildings. However, they just found out they may have to wait up to twenty years before their block is constructed. These payments have been collected from some four hundred foreigners and there are only sixty flats ready. When they signed up, certain other privileges were available, which have since been withdrawn. One woman who had purchased a flat had had a mystical experience in which Sai Baba appeared to her while in England. I find that most of the people here have had some type of mystical encounter with him. I met an American young man who told me that he had come here because Sai Baba had appeared to him in a dream and told him to come. I wondered if he was surprised at what he found at the ashram. He readily admitted that he was disappointed that there was no quiet time or place for meditation as he expected. However, he is finding the experience here quite meaningful since he has discovered that he is confronting his belief system at any given moment. “Especially when I go into that temple for Darshan and see those idols and those people bowing.” So this is your basic dichotomy of jnana (knowledge) versus bhakti (devotion). One day I finally manage to get a front-row seat, partly because I figured out that if you go over to the side you have a better chance. Sai Baba stops right beside me for a few moments to gather letters and to speak to someone. Just as he moves in front of me so I could get a close look, the woman next to me starts to grab at his feet, he seems to recoil and hurries on. However, I turn out to be in a perfect spot for his next act. The favored spot for Darshan is the covered porch by Sai Baba’s quarters. Needless to say, only men are allowed, except for one woman, one of the protector dragon ladies. So we will assume, only those known to Sai Baba are present. Today, after leaving the women’s section, he strolls over to that porch. He stops and talks casually with several devotees. Then out of the blue, I see him lift his arm and give it a kind of twirl. Suddenly, a golden chain appears like a flying loop, so that he actually has to seize it out of the air. So I get to witness one of his miracles: the manifestation of a gold chain. That is, I assume it is gold. Even Indians have investigated thoroughly the phenomenon to make sure it is not a hoax. Do not think the Indians are totally gullible. In Bangalore, one master said he was going to bring rain to stop the drought. When it did not happen, the usual crowds around him disappeared over night. According to Hindu thought, we are all divine; thereby, we are directly connected to divine energy and intelligence. Obviously, it is easier to project our divine energy on some unique persons. Instead of maintaining that my own innate divine nature created a certain miracle in my life, it is somehow easier to say, “The Heavenly Father, or Bhagavan, or my Guru did this or that for me.” Does the person, or Guru, or teacher, benefit from being a conduit for others? In other words, does he become a more powerful source by virtue of our projections? It does seem likely. Satya Sai Baba is one who certainly falls in the category of being the “significant other Divine” in many people’s lives. In fact, one could say he benefits from playing this role. Being a master in India does have benefits. Sai Baba lives just like a king. He has the best car in the state, almost in the country. His devotees claim the car does not matter to him. Frankly, I cannot see him traveling about in an India’s homemade Ambassador car either. On the other hand, he is able to fund charitable projects that no ordinary person could possibly do. Clearly, since he does not have to pay any workers, he can accomplish much more than the ordinary person. I only stayed for two weeks, but it was long enough to ascertain that whatever goes on here is not enlightenment, as defined by Hindu philosophy, nor by me. I did not find one person who was the slightest bit cognizant of their own divinity. All were content to hail that of the teacher. |