Chapter Forty-nine

Changing Times at Sevagram

From the train station at Wardha, I catch a bus that delivers me right at the gate of Mahatma Gandhi’s Sevagram Ashram. Consciously and alertly, I enter the peaceful “place of service” through a pathway lined with tall lush shady trees. Pausing for a moment, I take in the scene: a half dozen thatched huts surround a large dirt yard, which is totally cleared of any grass or leaves—a snake prevention practice. Small white cottages, shaded by shrubs and trees, line the front row with their backs to the road. After a few minutes of silence, I am approached by a friendly young man, dressed in the white color of a brahmachari, who speaks mediocre English. First, he gives me a short tour of the key places, including Gandhi’s hut, a tiny shop selling Gandhi’s books, and the small dining hall attached to the kitchen. Then we walk across the yard where he shows me to a clean spacious guest room, which will be my living quarters for the next week.

In the early 1930’s, after his famous salt march, Gandhi moved to the Wardha area through the graces of a wealthy landowner, Jamnalal Bajaj. At the time he had left the Ahmedabad ashram for that defiant act against the British Government's decree to tax even salt, Gandhi declared he would not return home to it until India had its Independence: He never returned. His European disciple Mirabehn had preceded him to this area to search for a suitable village in which they could do service to try out and develop Gandhi’s social ideas. So in the mid-1930’s, Gandhi’s ashram was built here, along side a village of some 600 inhabitants, about half of whom were outcaste Harijans.

After lunch, the brahmachari introduces me to Jaswant Rai, who turns out to be my best guide to the world of Gandhi. He invites me into his small white cottage, right by the entrance gate. After his wife and I exchange some small talk, I mention that I am surprised that the ashram is so small and so empty.

“Oh, you must understand that the ashram was intended for training workers. It was never meant for living quarters. We are only here on a short vacation. We live and work in a village in the state of Madya Pradesh where we teach and train people in all kinds of practical skills.

“This was the case even when Gandhi was alive. Mirabehn did not live here, except when she was ill. She lived over in the Sevagram village and taught weaving over there.”

“So you knew Mirabehn?”

“Oh, yes, we all knew her. She was such a dedicated hard worker. After Gandhi died she went up to Rishikesh and established a shelter for old and sick animals. When she became elderly, she left India to live in a country with a lot of mountains, I don’t remember which one [Austria]. Anyway, she did write us from there several times, but we have not heard from her in many years now.”

“You must have been quite young when you first met Gandhi.”

Mr. Rai’s face lights up with his memories, “Yes, there were a lot of us who were students at that time. We were very dedicated to his ideas of service to the backward villagers.”

“The self-sufficient village economy?”

“Yes, it is not just an ideal; it is necessary in many of our isolated villages. You can visit the village next door, you will see for yourself.”

After I am all settled in the spacious guest room, I go to sit out on the verandah and wait until the sun moves a little lower to cast some long shadows before I set out to explore. Contented to just relax, I am brought out of my reverie when an attractive, chipper young woman about twenty years old approaches me.

“You are the American?” she inquires.

“Well, yes, I am an American.”

“It is all your fault.”

“My fault?” I am visibly taken aback. “What is my fault?”

“This terrible materialism that is ruining India; it is all the fault of America. Indians are crazy for American products. We were just discussing it in our seminar.”

“I see, but I haven’t seen a single American here telling Indians what to do or what to buy.”

“Well, no, but the Indians are imitating them—what they see in the news.”

Frankly, I am quite aware of this phenomena and have attempted to comprehend its roots. No doubt, the Empire was run on the fuel of superiority of the white/Christian race; a concept that was effectively backed by superior weapons. Where would the white Christians, with all our elite theories, be today without our barbaric guns and bombs? However, at the moment, I do not feel that anything would be gained by bringing the subject of the Indian inferiority complex into the current conversation. So I take a different tact.

“If the Indians want to imitate the Americans, why don’t they pick some of their positive qualities?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“For example, the Americans are very hard working. They have worked hard to achieve their life-style. Also the majority are very honest. In U.S. you don’t have to pay bribes to get electricity, to have your telephone connected, or to get a building permit.”

The girl looks at me with a blank stare. It appears what I am saying is not sinking in. After a long pause, I politely change the subject. “You are here for a seminar?”

“Yes, the Gandhi Foundation offered a one-month seminar on his ideas. I am studying to be a journalist, so I felt that such a course would be worthwhile to me. But it has not really been what I expected.”

“In what way?”

“You know the residents there in the village hate the ashramites,” she explains.

“No, I wasn’t aware of that. Why do you suppose that is?”

“Because the ashram is fenced and private. The buildings here are so much better than what they have there.”

“I don’t get a feeling of the ashram being so private. The gate is open. I’m sure anyone would be welcome here—even to the daily prayer service.”

“Oh, they come here all right. The boys—teenagers—come over here to use the public outhouses and smear shit all over them, so we have to clean them up.”

“Yes, I would call that an hostile act. I wonder who cleans them when students are not here.” Then I chuckle.

She looks at me with a questioning glare, so I quickly explain. “I was thinking of a booklet that I just saw at the bookstore. It was written by a Japanese man, who visited here in the early 1940’s. Unfortunately, Gandhi was away when he arrived. However, he wrote to Gandhi, and received an immediate reply from him. That letter was published in the introduction of the booklet. Gandhi wrote that he supposed that the guest was having to empty all the latrine pails for the ashram residents because that’s what they always made the newcomers do. So here it is sixty years later, and there’s still no one to clean the toilets—except the visitors.”

That story does get a tiny smile out of the serious young face, but no conversation opens up, for she tells me she has to return to class. “Maybe you will come and talk to us one afternoon,” she remarks as she leaves.

“Sure, I’ll be glad to.” However, even though I walk through the area where the seminar is being held, almost daily, I never see her again. Nor am I invited to speak. Actually, the participants remained quite separate from the main section where I stay. I never saw any the teachers or students in this area.

Later, when I walk over to the village, I find that it probably looks about as it did when Gandhi was alive—with the exception of a large public school located on the entrance lane. I did not visit the school, for recent rains had made a huge pond in the road in front of it. I am not up to wading in mud when not absolutely necessary, but obviously the kids have to.

The Indians have always valued education. Educating the populace was one of the fundamental duties of the Brahman caste. In the 6th century BC, the university at Taxila had an international reputation as a center of advanced studies. From the 1st century BC, Indian scholars were invited to teach at academies and monasteries throughout Asia. In the 5th century AD, the universities of Nalanda and Valabhi supported the rise of Indian sciences, mathematics and astronomy. During this era, the original minds of the Indian scholars formulated the numerals we call “Arabic” and the concept of zero, which existed in their ancient texts. In the 10th century, when the Muslims arrived, nearly every village had its own school. If we compare this data with what was occurring in Great Britain in 1066 AD, I think we can get a glimpse of the waxing and waning of civilizations—and concepts of natural superiority.

In spite of the Muslim impact on the stability of the native Indian cultures, in the early 1800’s before the advent of the British domination, there were some 100,000 schools in India. The village schools were built with community effort; the teachers were furnished room and board by the villages. The students’ intense respect for their teachers is made apparent throughout the Mahabharta and other texts. There was no need for cash nor taxes. In the larger towns, the rulers usually supported the schools. The raja of Baroda had instated free and compulsory education to all his citizens in the 1920’s, long before it was practiced in Britain.

Then in the mid-1800’s, Lord Macaulay made it clear that mass education as practied in India was not to the benefit of the British. What the rulers needed was a class of clerks who would be interpreters between the government and the millions. They were to be “Indian in blood and colour, but English in taste, in opinions, in morals and in intellect.” And they would forever remain as “clerks,” commonly referred to as niggers or peons by their overlords, who kept them out of any high positions in Government and the Military.

Thereafter, in the formal education throughout the Raj, all elements of anything pertaining to India—history, languages and culture—were annihilated. Its awesome texts of ethics and logic, its great literary epics, its world-renowned metal work, its extensive trade routes with China and the Roman empire—all were ignored. The textbooks were the ones used in England for English children—Christmas trees, St. Nicholas, English gardens and all. The repercussions were tenacious in destroying self-identity and self-value of the Indian people. Even today I find both Indians and Western scholars who comment that India had no written history. A completely assiduous idea that is a repercussion from the Western imposition of its education system.

However, the upper-caste Brahmans that the British chose for their education were not the ones Gandhi was targeting for his education program. He wanted a meaningful and useful education for the “dumb millions”—as he always called the peasants. He wanted to return to the cooperative system—in education, economics and politics—that had been traditional in the villages. Gandhi emphasized an education that would supply the real needs of the villagers, plus the use 0f Indian languages, as they were more authentic in expressing the Indian mindset and culture.

When Gandhi was ready to start a school at Sevagram, he was fortunate to have the educational model of Shantiniketam, a school operated by Rabindranath Tagore, the Nobel Prize winning poet [1913]. A married couple came from there to organize and run the school for Gandhi. They created a model for Basic Education all over the country. As the children progressed through seven grades, they would be learning different handicrafts and practical skills. While working with each particular handicraft, they would learn mathematics as the project required, the history of the craft, and understand each step of its development. Eventually, spinning would expand to weaving, and even growing and harvesting of the cotton. Gandhi envisioned that the various crafts would stimulate the children’s intellectual curiosity, so they would want to discover, research and improve the various traditional methods.

The older children would make tools and equipment for handcrafts and agriculture, as well as learn the basics of construction of homes. Also they would be in charge of the production of food for personal and local use, experimenting and expanding the range of crops and fodder grown in their region.

Everyone agreed on the importance of art and music as a basic course. Art could be mastered in the use of decorating of the various crafts. Although the children would be from different religious backgrounds of Hindu, Muslim and Christian, moral and ethical values would not be neglected. The training would be based on universal ideals, specially the practice of non-violence. The keystone of the plan was a relationship of love and respect between the teacher and the student. I could easily envision the manifestation of this concept because I had recently read the work of Sukhomlinsky, a Russian educator. My head was in a peak experience state from the encounter with his descriptions of his teaching practices.

Financing the schools also called for some innovation. The traditional cooperative system was out of the question since the villages were now already overburdened with taxes to the central Government. Moreover, in British India revenue for education came from taxes on alcohol sales; it was a contradiction of Gandhi’s values. He suggested that the children would create various handicrafts that could be sold to support the school. As for higher education, he proposed that the specialized training would be provided by the companies that required engineers, chemists, financiers, whereas Agricultural Colleges could be supported by their own produce.

One afternoon I have the privilege of speaking with Mr. Shankar Pandey, who had been the principal of the school here. Both he and Mr. Rai are perfect examples of the bright-eyed, soft-spoken, open-minded, dignified elderly Indian gentlemen. Certainly not a majority, but their type is abundant; I find them everywhere, in every caste, in every state. In their elder years, they seem to ripen into amateur philosophers. They are beautiful human beings. They make me think that every male should grow old in India. Perhaps, it has something to do with their developed feminine side. Certainly, the practice of the young to consult the elderly on major family decisions may influence both men and women to keep up their intellectual acuity and intuitive sharpness. The young do not need an injunction written in stone to respect the elderly; the elderly act in a manner that invites respect.

Mr. Pandey informs me that they had run the Basic Education school, founded here in the mid-1930’s, until just ten years ago. He goes on to comment, “Then the Government built a school right in the village. The day it opened, our school emptied.”

“The villagers preferred a Government school to Gandhi’s plan, a plan geared specially for them?” I express surprise.

“You see, we taught according to each child’s needs. There were never any examinations or diplomas. This meant that our students were not accepted at the state universities. Whereas, since they are Harijans, or the lower caste, they have preference at the universities,” he comments.

“So the parents in this small village want their children to go to universities?”

“Oh, yes. They want the high-paying Government jobs. They will get preference for those too,” he explains.

“I’m afraid I know about that. When I was in Karnataka last year, the Government had hired a Harijan as a Priest in a government-run temple there, although he did not know even one verse from the Vedas, nor a word of Sanskrit. It’s not like there is a shortage of poor priests who need work in south India.” Without waiting for him to comment, I conclude, “So this means the local villagers rejected Gandhi’s concept of ‘cultured simplicity’?”

“That’s true. One problem always was that the parents did not like the children doing the manuring of the crops. We produced all of our food. We made all of our clothes, starting right with the growing of the cotton crop. We would use all the manure from the cattle and the latrines, so everything grew so abundantly.

“You can’t imagine what wonderful days we’ve spent here in the gardens. At harvest time, it was a huge green paradise. Then gathering time was a big festival. Everyone participated—from the first graders to the principal. We would all go out together and spend a whole day cutting and picking and singing,” his face lights up as he describes his memories.”

“Now it’s all over,” he concludes as he looks me straight in the eyes.

One afternoon I stop at the local tea and snack shop at the road junction in the opposite direction of the village. I call it a shop, instead of a stall, because it actually has tables, chairs and a roof. As I sit waiting for my tea, I realize, I bet I have been in more tea stalls in India than any other person on the planet. Now that is quite a distinction, but, of course, extremely necessary for my search for the best cup of tea!

As I look around while I am sipping the tea, I am surprised to notice that the proprietor, a young man about 35 years old, speaks English. Since it is so rare to find an English-speaker running a tea shop in a small village, my curiosity prompts me to strike up a conversation with him. My interest is further peaked when I find out that he is a product of the Gandhi ashram school.

He quite willingly opens up and tells me that the ashramites took him in when he was about three years of age. He assumes he was an orphan; there were no records. Not only did they provide him with a home and education, but, when he graduated, they arranged a job for him in Singapore. We will assume it was menial labor; however, he was able to save some money. When he had enough to start a decent tea shop, he returned here to the only home he knows.

“There are some people from the village that criticize the ashram,” I mention.

“It’s hard for me to understand why they do, since I know the effort the ashramites put forth to assist those villagers for so many years. I can find no reason to criticize them. Everything I have I owe to them,” he assures me.

One the way back to the ashram, I notice a hospital named for Gandhi’s wife, Kasturbai. Later, I take the opportunity to ask Mr. Pandey about it. “I was surprised to notice that the hospital by the ashram is allopathic. Gandhi was a Nature Cure person. I don’t recall him ever condoning the Western allopathic medicine.”

“He didn’t condone it; he condemned it. He used to go over to the village every morning to treat the sick. He always used the simplest of home remedies: bicarbonate of soda, caster oil, enemas, mud packs and special diets.”

“So how is it that there is a allopathic hospital, named for Kasturbai Gandhi, here beside the ashram?”

“Because that is the way to collect foreign dollars. It did not start like that, but the original director has died. So the new directors took the easy way, they use the name to make it easy to get donations.”

“And nobody cares that it teaches and practices the opposite of Gandhi’s ideas?”

“Nobody.”

Chapter Fifty

Gandhi's Economic Strategy

I am quite fortunate that Gandhi’s daughter-in-law returns during my visit, for she lives here only part time. Gandhi had four sons. The wife of his third son, Ramdas, is the only one who remains alive from that generation. In the afternoon, Mr. Rai takes me over and introduces us. A tiny woman, with gray hair rolled in a bun, Nirmala is antimated and smiling, truly a little ray of sunshine with no pretensions whatsoever. She does not speak English, however, but starts rolling out a story that sends her and Mr. Rai into peals of laughter.

“Just because she’s eighty does not mean she doesn’t remember things; she remembers too much,” he turns to me and comments with a smile.

As they banter back and forth, it becomes apparent that she is speaking of the early days at the ashram. She too had been a student of Gandhi, wide-eyed and idealistic. But Gandhi insisted that all of his young followers remain unmarried, for their lives were to be dedicated to the upliftment of rural India. Although this attitude had some practicality, since the needs of one’s own family could cause conflicts of interest for the worker, it has no sanction whatsoever in the Hindu tradition of the four stages of life. The ancient sages had spouses who were their indispensable helpmates. Even the Hindu gods have their feminine counterparts! Of course, Gandhi contributed his personal example— he certainly never gave his family any special consideration.

When Nirmala and Ramdas fell in love, Gandhi simply decreed “No,” they were not to be married. The “Father of India’s freedom” would not allow his own sons to choose their paths in life. They must have been confused observing their own father’s sexual behavior. He did choose celibacy, but it was after having pumped out four sons and experiencing such a lusty nature that he was forever ashamed of it. It was no secret that he slept nude with young women (no sex—it was to test his celibacy) right up until the last years of his life. In addition, there were the two hour long baths when he was closed up in his private bath room with a teenage girl rubbing him down with polishing stones. Yet he expected his sons to eliminate women from their lives.

All of his sons defied him, chose a wife and got married. He stuck to his edict and he banished them from his life. None of them had it easy. Since Gandhi had refused them access to a standard education, they were ill prepared for a life in the world—they resented that too. The second son, Manilal, suffered the least repercussions because he was exiled to South Africa to manage the ashram there—as punishment for loaning his brother, Harilal, some money to help him out.

Harilal, the elder, was the real rebel of the family. He seemed to hold the most resentment for not having had a father; Gandhi was in England during Harilal’s younger years. In any event, he led a difficult life and died young.

In Ramdas’s case, using his father’s numerous connections with India’s wealthy industrialists, he was able to find a job. So he and Nirmala were able to live their own lives. Nirmala says that before Gandhi died there was some reconciliation between he and Ramdas. The youngest son, Devadas, also chose to live a life independent from his father. To pour salt on his own sons’ wounds, Gandhi provided his favorite nephew with a London education, allowed him to marry, and called him “closer than a son.” His biographer, Louis Fischer, sympathically opined that he simply must not have wanted to have children.


Then my conversation with Nirmala and Mr. Rai turns to the subject of the other students at that time. I am informed that they had also married, but they were allowed to carry on the social programs anyway. “So you actually lived on the job. You raised your families in those isolated villages?” I question Mr. Rai.

“Oh, yes. Our children lived right with us. We all lived in the same huts and ate the same food as the villagers. Our children participated in whatever way they could.”

“Where are all the workers’ children today? They must be adults now?” I question him further.

“Oh, they are all in America.”

“In America?”

“Yes, they are only interested in making money and having a comfortable life. They want to make up for all the deprivation they suffered as children. All of them figure that they have had enough of India and its poverty.”

“Well, I somehow find that surprising.”

“There is one exception, the daughter of Devendra Kumar. She is the only one of all our children who has remained a dedicated worker. She works with her father at the village research center near here. You must go to meet them.”

We all fell silent, as if in prayer. Is it a prayer for the demise of Gandhi’s dreams, or is it a prayer for the plight of human kind? I cannot say.

“Caw. Caw.” The call of a nearby crow pierces our pensive mood.

“Let’s have a cup of tea. It must be ready now,” Nirmala pipes up.

Our silence touches a place in our hearts where humans fear to tread. The laughter about the “good ole days” was over for the moment.

That evening after the meditation service, I set out for a leisurely stroll through the grounds, comparatively small for the number of people who once lived here. I think of Gandhi on three fronts, his personal life, his ideas on education and economy, and his involvement in politics. Gandhi named his autobiography, My Experiments with Truth. His truth were his experiments with swaraj, self-mastery, and satyagraha, moral force, and have universal application. Gandhi’s experiments in his personal life with women, diet, family were his personal affairs and little can be gained from them. The truth of the world is constantly in a flux due to changing situations and circumstances, so it’s hard to judge another from another time, place and culture. I think we have to admire him for his conscious attempt, even though we may not agree with some of his actions. His treatment of his wife and sons was not befitting a saint, and cannot be rationalized in light of any cultural or moral system—certainly not Hinduism.

While traveling through rural India, I am always observing villages that have not changed in centuries. I have said to myself at least one hundred times, What would India be like today if it had followed Gandhi’s economic plan: the small, independent village unit as the base of the economy? The village economy was most important to Gandhi. Both Mr. Rai and Mr. Panday have described to me how he spent a lot of his personal time in the little nearby village when he was able to spend several years at a time in this ashram.

Gandhi knew that the foundation of India’s independence had to be a decent economy. How could a country drained of its natural resources and held back in industrialization become a viable entity?

When I mention that I have lived in India to anyone in the U.S., the response is always the same: “How could you stand the poverty?” Everyone knows of India’s poverty, yet to this day I have never found one American who has bothered to investigate why India is in such poverty. It would not take a lot of thought to figure there is some glitch on the historical road map. America was “discovered” because Europeans were seeking trade with India. At that time, India represented the ultimate in wealth in spices and gold. When the first Europeans traders, led by the Portuguese Vasco de Gama, reached India in 1497, they found an international community of Jewish, Armenian, Arabian Moslems traders, all peacefully living under a Hindu king in an area call Malabar. What was the need for greed, when there was enough for everyone?

So from 1492 to the present date, what has happened to render India the epitome of “poverty”? Of course, I am more than happy to enlighten anyone on the subject, but I still wonder why people do not think for themselves. Of course, the question about India’s poverty is always followed by the wise remark: “If they are so hungry, why don’t they eat their cows?” Again, how much thought does it take to calculate that if you have a cow it will provide milk, butter and yogurt to a family for some ten years. Whereas, if you kill a cow to eat it, how long will it last—and in a tropical country? Truly, my concern is the poverty of the American intelligence. I wonder how long people are going to continue to settle for an education that systematically extracts their power to think for themselves?

With the different stories I am hearing, I am just plain puzzled: Who is this man Gandhi? I am impelled to figure out what he was all about. Was he in fact just a convenient hero for the uneducated peasants and idealistic students? Even today the Indian peasants’ need for heroes—or kings—or movie stars is overwhelming. I know the phenomenon exists elsewhere, but not to the degree it does here.

So I take advantage of the time while I am in Sevagram to immerse myself in the various booklets and pamphlets available here on Gandhi’s ideas. In reading some of the literature, I find that Gandhi’s economic ideas were not original. He had arrived in London in the late 1890’s at a time called the New Age. The proponents emphasized a philosophy of self-reliance both economically and physically, through Nature Cure (natural medicine) and vegetarianism. However, their principal objective was a life of non-violence. Gandhi was particularly influenced by Ruskin, Carpenter, Thoreau and Tolstoy. Gandhi even corresponded with Tolstoy, who in turn had been influenced by Rousseau. Now I have a new list of authors to read, although I had recently read Rousseau’s biography. That’s the advantage of my being a self-taught person—learning never ends.

The European New Agers were very interested in Gandhi’s work. Although they had established their back-to-earth communities in England and Switzerland, the settlements were very small. India seemed to hold the only hope for a true New Age. The lack of industrialization could be an advantage; for, in the West, the movement had to remove a lot of unwanted elements that still did not exist in India. Several of the New Agers lived with Gandhi at his Tolstoy Farm in South Africa, while many visited his ashrams in both South Africa and India. However, they did not feel his definition of non-violent was the same as theirs. They particularly found fault with his recruitment of soldiers for the British in World War I and his defiant act of the burning of European clothes, so they parted ways. However, Gandhi had learned the foundation of his social ideology from them.

Gandhi was proposing a complete social system based on a self-sufficient village unit. He felt that economy had to be a means to an end: the true goal of life being the spiritual evolution and freedom of the individuals. A sound economy that provided for everyone “according to their needs” was essential for the progress of mankind. Gandhi would point out that while it is true a hungry man cannot pray, neither can one who has stuffed himself.

The British had changed the agricultural focus throughout their empire. Instead of the basic growing food crops for use in the home and for farm animals, the villagers had to grow commercial crops, dependent on an outside market, to raise cash for taxes. This change was a key factor in the demise of the traditional culture and economy. Gandhi insisted the villager grow enough food to feed everyone a healthy diet, as well as sufficient cotton for clothing. Thread was to be spun in the homes, then woven in cooperatives.

When the Europeans arrived, every village—and many individual cottages—had their own spinning wheels. The oldest piece of cotton cloth extant on the planet was found in the Indu Valley ruins, dated before 3,000 BC. These cottage industries were ruined with the importation of foreign cloth. The destruction of their wonderful native textiles was well calculated. One caste of weavers produced the finest of silks. I have seen some one-hundred-year old silk saris with beautiful intricate designs. Since the British could not compete with their work, they cut the weavers’ fingers off to prevent the competition. I surmise that it must have been their fingernails that were snipped off because one can picture that they could be using long fingernails for fine weaving. However, I have heard this story a half-dozen times and the Indians do believe that the tips of their fingers were chopped off. Even if it was not true, the common belief that their native artisans were treated in such a manner is in itself significant.

Gandhi planned homes constructed with community effort from available native materials—not really a big change in most villages even today. Direct exchange of goods, services and facilities between villages would eliminate the middlemen who necessitated the use of money in trade. Any excess produce would be traded for goods with a network of surrounding villages and used for the paying of the inevitable taxes. His intent was to distribute the wealth equitably. The principle was that if no one owned anything, there would be no obsession to overwork for the sake of accumulating.

Many of his ideas were not new to India. The communal use of land and goods, with distribution of labor according to skill, talent and caste was their traditional system. Karl Marx used the ancient Indian communities as a model in his Das Capital [published 1867]. I have not been able to verify it, but he may have visited Indian villages. Among the specialists he cataloged, such as the headman, judge, priest, astrologer, potter, he included an oddity that I only have heard of here: the person who was assigned to protect any travelers through the village and to escort them to the next village. In spite of foreign incursions, things change very slowly in rural India. Some of these villages still existed early in this century, but were doomed to demise as the British extended their revenue network. Inevitably the villagers were forced to produce the crops that could be sold for cash money to pay taxes.

I have often noticed that the 1850’s were crucial in Indian, therefore, world history. In 1857, while the British were busy bringing civilization to the dark heathens by hanging entire populations of villages on trees to rot and by blowing away “mutinous” soldiers strapped to cannons, Karl Marx was studying the traditions of these very villages. At the time, when Lord Macaulay was making his ultimatum to destroy the traditional Indian education system, Thoreau, Emerson and Tolstoy were enthralled by the wisdom of the Bhagavad Gita.

Again Gandhi’s economic plan was practical. The third world countries that had been kept down economically by the Empire powers were far behind in the world arena. If rural Indians were going to have a decent life, the village economy was the only solution that seemed feasible. Firsthand lessons had clearly demonstrated to Gandhi why the capitalists’ system simply would not work in India. The laborers were too easily exploited.

When Gandhi returned to India in 1915, after 20 years in South Africa, he was aware of the economic system and its ramifications, for it was exactly like the one he had been fighting there. I find it interesting that within two years in India, he found three specific causes to assist the exploited laborers.

First was the indigo crisis: Germany had invented synthetic dyes. Suddenly, the peasants who had been required to grow indigo on 3/20th of their leased property had a useless commodity on their hands—but they did not know it. To take advantage of the situation and make up for their own losses, the deceitful European landlords tried to collect illegal fees to “release” the grwoers from their indigo obligations. Even before then, the British landholders in Bihar had a reputation for extracting illegal dues from the peasants. I am sorry to report that the phenomenon continues today in the area even though the British have left.

A Bihari peasant who knew of Gandhi’s work in South Africa dogged him until he got Gandhi to come look at the situation for himself. Gandhi remained in Bihar for six months, painstakingly noting all the complaints of the laborers one by one. An episode from this conflict appeared in the movie, Gandhi. In spite of harassment and even imprisonment, Gandhi stayed at the task until he won British government cooperation for the laborer’s cause. His victory for the indigo planters in Bihar was crucial in elevating the attitude of the peasants; Gandhi became their savior.

The second incident was in Gandhi’s home state of Gujurat. There the peasants protested that, although 25 percent of their harvest was lost to drought, their unreasonably high taxes to the Government were not renegotiated. In the past days of the kings, they would have had to pay only a percentage of their crop for taxes; so when the yield was low, the tax was adjusted automatically. Under pressure led by Gandhi, the taxex were finally reduced.

However, his most interesting campaign was against an Indian, specifically, a wealthy mill owner in Gujurat. So in his home state, Gandhi directed a successful strike among the laborers, who lived the equivalent of Dickens’ London, or U.S's Pittsburgh. He used these protests as a forum for the development of his ideas, gradually fine-tuning his technique of satyagraha, that is, moral force obtained by adherence to the truth. Not only the truth of the issue for oneself, but for the opponent too, who was never considered an enemy. If we reform ourselves, the rulers will automatically follow suit was his theme.

In the end, although Gandhi was the savior to the “dumb millions,” it is clear that he did not reach the mind of the peasants. They live from day to day with little or no interest in improving their lot. They are satisfied when someone does a project for them, but they continually show little interest in initiating improvements for themselves. The example here at Sevagram is typical. Even after fifty years of assistance, which was oriented toward teaching and training them, somehow the villagers never learned to do anything to improve their own lot. It is certain that Gandhi and his followers even had to educate the peasants to understand that the British Raj was responsible for their local grievances and exploitation. They were capable of comprehending this political reality, but his ideological concepts of swaraj and satyagraha were beyond their capacity.

In my opinion, the fact that he had a following of millions of peasants created interest in Gandhi in the rest of the world. This fame gave him leverage for his political success, which came from a more sophisticated audience—Americans and Europeans. President Roosevelt personally put pressure on the British in favor of India’s independence. From the time of his Salt March in 1930, his actions were international news. Dozens of foreign reporters were at the sea when Gandhi picked up those few grains of salt. That year, he was named “Man of the Year” by Life Magazine. Right through the second world war, Gandhi captivated the war-worn nations with his method of politics. In a world that needed heroes, Gandhi fit the mandate.

Chapter Fifty-one

A Second Look at Non-Violence

 Last year I had met a south Indian Brahman whose family had been enthusiastic followers of Gandhi’s ideas. Even today he only wears the traditional handspun and woven cotton, called “khadi.” One day in our conversation, he had lamented that Gandhi had been a failure. At that time I had very little information on Gandhi, so I was rather taken aback.

For the next few days, my mind kept chewing the facts, trying to make some sense of his allegation. A couple of days later when I saw him, I comment, “You know I’ve really been thinking about our last conversation about Gandhi. It was surprising for me to find out that some Indians consider Gandhi a failure.”

“No, not Indians. Gandhi himself said he was a failure.”

“I see.” I pause to let the facts circulate through my brain. Actually, although we consider him the prophet of non-violence, Gandhi was ambivalent about violence.

“I do see that in the midst of all the violence at the partition of Pakistan and India, that it would have been difficult to not face his failure. If his mission was non-violence, and not the independence of India per se, then he was a failure. Although no British were killed, at least, one million Indians died. So that’s not exactly a non-violent result; not to one who had once declared, ‘I will not purchase my country’s freedom at the cost of non-violence.’”

“Yes, the dichotomy in Gandhi’s attitude surfaced during World War I when he recruited solders of the British army in Mesopotamia. He never seemed to have a simple, straight-forward plan. He kept experimenting to find out what would work.”

“I knew that he supported the British in the war, but I never knew he recruited soldiers.”

“He felt that the British military was protecting India and Indians, so they should be supported. But he did not get much cooperation from the Indians. You see he had just led a non-violence strike, and afterwards was asking the same people to fight in a war. They laughed at him.”

“Sometimes the Indian peasants are not as gullible as one would think. So he had no luck recruiting soldiers?”

“None at all. As a matter of fact, he became so frustrated that he pushed himself until he fell seriously ill. In addition, he had another reason for supporting the war. At that time, he thought there was a chance for Dominion status for India. Therefore, the Indians should know military tactics. The battlefield of the European war would be a training ground for them. His idea was that only the brave and courageous could practice true non-violence.”

“I seem to remember that he said that a cat and a mouse could not form an alliance, implying that Indians were the mice.”

“Yes, you see the depth of his understanding of the situation in that simple statement.”

“Then after the war came the Rowlatt Laws,” I led him back to his train of thought.

“Well, those laws to imprison anyone the government wanted to without trial had actually been practiced during the war, supposedly to punish, or deter, dissenters to the war effort. When the Government decided to make the practice a law after the war, of course, the Indians objected—and loudly. This was the first time the whole country was openly united against the British.

“But after a mob burned a police station, killing the officers inside, Gandhi called off the whole nationalist movement. Because of his pronouncement, the movement lost its momentum.”

I commenedt, “One freedom fighter told me that had Gandhi let the Indians continue with their independence movement at that time, India would have gotten its independence in the 1930’s—with much less loss of lives. At that time, the Indians were directing their violence appropriately against the British. So it some years later when the Indians turned their ire and frustration against each other.”

He picks up the idea, “It is true that the delay gave the British time to regroup, to divide the Muslims and Hindus further. That momentum was never recaptured. And it all ended in violence anyway. But Indian against Indian—instead of against the British where it was appropriate.”

“It does seem that Gandhi stopped the momentum at a crucial time. He was so determined that there should be no violence. He intended that the Indians had to train and discipline themselves. I understand that on his Salt March, all the participants had to train with him at the ashram for a year. I was surprised when I read that not a single member of Indian Congress was among them.

“Of course, there were practical considerations. Certainly, history informed Gandhi of the violence the British were capable of. The British had the rifles and cannons.”

He paused to consider my comments, “You’re right. Even if he did not know the right thing to do, he knew that in dealing with the British, we had to use non-violence.”

I continue, “You know it surprises me that he waited so long to face the fact of the violent nature of the British, that is, the European gene pool. In his personal history, four times he had been physically manhandled by the British, in one instance by a mob. I never understood why that did not wake him up to the fact the British in South Africa and India were not the gentlemen he supposed them to be—the gentlemen he needed them to be if he was going to be successful in his political maneuvers.”

But a failure? I take a long pause to let that one sink in. India did get its independence. But that was not his goal, his goal was independence in the corred “non-violent” way.

In short, it appears his authoritarian disposition was not entirely reserved for his private affairs. After discussions with Gandhi, Dr. Edward Thompson of Oxford University described Gandhi succinctly, “Like Socrates, he has a ‘daemon.’ When the ‘daemon’ has spoken, he is as unmoved by argument as by danger.”

Being the hero of the masses also gave Gandhi the leverage to become a dictator within the Indian Congress. When he called off the non-violent movement in 1930, he did not consult with anyone. He cut down every logical argument of his comrades—who were powerless because they were all in prison. Although he refused to become an officer in the organization himself, he single-handedly manipulated the Indian Congress. For example, when the assembly elected Subhas Bose as their president, Gandhi made a power play and forced his resignation. Bose was definitely following a more aggressive course for Independence.

It’s hard to know why Gandhi chose to continue in politics to the detriment of his social work. Tolstoy personally warned him against the nation state. Tolstoy was outrageous, even in today’s terms, in his criticism of the “State.” He saw patriotism to a nation state as the root of war, violence and exploitation. He warned Gandhi that the very nation he was struggling for would be responsible for deluding the populace to give up their older traditions of allegiance to land, customs, culture—in exchange for the protection of the state, an amorphous entity that would send them off to war to be slaughtered.

He put it rather harshly, “Patriotism in its simplest, clearest, and most indubitable signification is nothing else but a means of obtaining for the rulers their ambitions and covetous desires, while giving the ruled the abdication of human dignity, reason, and conscience, and a slavish enthrallment to those in power. . . . Patriotism is slavery.” And how did we allow ourselves to be slaves of the State? He had some poignant ideas on that too. “The church is but a backer of the war-monger State. It is the fraud of the church, taught us early in our lives, that sets us up to accept the political frauds.” Sounds like he read Voltaire also!

Gandhi and Tolstoy corresponded for several years right before the Russian’s death. But Gandhi was a Hindu—to the core. He could not give up the mentality that some men are born to be warriors. This is the testimony, although not necessarily the moral, of the great war portrayed in the Mahabharta. This concept, that we are all born with a temperament toward certain duties, is the crux of the caste system. Some persons have a propensity for fighting. Put these people in a war and let them get it out of their system. Remember, the Kama Sutra, which was written by a great sage, conveyed the same message. Some people have a strong desires for sex, so all the information they need is herein provided. Whether sex or fighting, there are just some experiences that certain individuals are born to go through. . . let the world give them what they need to finish off the desires, then their minds and bodies will be free from more spiritual endeavors. The ancient rshis were not upholders of repression.

Along with Tolstoy, Tagore, who Gandhi considered a spiritual Guru at one time, was vehemently opposed to nationalism. In a lecture tour in 1916, he alerted Americans, “Not merely we subject races, but you who live under the delusion that you are free, are every day sacrificing your freedom and humanity to this fetish of nationalism, living in the dense poisonous atmosphere of world-wide suspicion and greed and panic.”

“Political freedom will not make us free,” he warned Gandhi again and again. Tagore felt that the political issues had diverted attention away from the country’s primary needs. He deprecated the trend toward nationalism because it pursued political goals rather than social ones. Of course, Gandhi agreed on the importance of social improvements, but he was adamant about his political goal. However, the two were totally in accord with the concept that those who failed to attain swaraj in themselves could never find it in the outside world.

When I spoke again with Shankar Panday, I mentioned, “When I stood in Gandhi’s hut, I definitely got a glimpse of ‘cultured simplicity.’ The simple mud walls with decorations of the palms and Om symbol that were molded into the walls by Mirabehn. Yet, I can hardly fathom how far this life-style was from the one Nehru and his comrades established in the ex-British mansions of New Delhi.”

“Believe me everyone here was utterly shocked when Nehru moved into the Viceroy’s mansion.”

“Did Gandhi say anything?”

“No, no one said a word. No one had to. It was in complete opposition to Gandhi’s ideals.”

That was not the only thing that was in opposition to Gandhi’s ideas. He had to go on a fast to force the new Indian government to pay Pakistan the cash from the national coffers that was due that country. Also Gandhi criticized the Government for putting the military expenditures at the top of their budget. Again Gandhi wanted legitimate parties formed so that India would not have a one party rule. The truth is Nehru not only ignored Gandhi, he ignored his own Congress Party. Within the first year, the Congress President resigned in protest to the corruption, bribery and profiteering he witnessed in the Government. Ignoring Gandhi’s suggestion to install a strong leader, Nehru found a quiet “yes” man to replace him. Gandhi then planned to take the only avenue he felt open to him: a massive campaign to educate India’s voters. But he was assassinated two months later, so his plan was terminated before it got off the ground.

So we can conclude that Gandhi may have had an impact on the world, but not on his own Government, even though its leader claimed to be a Gandhi disciple. The truth speedily emerged that the men who had spent half their adult life in British prisons were not prepared to live a simple life of self-effacement. In addition, the Indian Congress had been financed by wealthy industrialists, so there was an implied debt of gratitude.

More and more, I am coming to realize that Gandhi was the one and only meeting place between the Indian Congress and the masses. Gandhi had gained the confidence of the laboring masses through his three successful protests. His genius was apparent when he chose the issues of his campaign, for the peasants could comprehend spinning and salt. Gandhi wrote Tagore that he had contemplated for days before he came up with idea of salt, the perfect item for his boycott. In the ancient village economy, every hamlet produced everything it needed, except salt. Salt had to be imported. So over thirty years previously when the British had imposed a salt monopoly along with a tax, it touched every peasant. The sophisticated Congress businessmen, even Nehru, thought salt was a joke. None of them even pretended to participate in Gandhi’s spinning plan.

The Indian Congress had been created by native Indian industrialists for the purpose of improving their own prospects. Looking back, all of them were entrepreneurs, out for their own good. If you think that their “good” suggests the good of the workers, I refer you to Margaret Burke-White’s Halfway to Freedom in which she describes in detail the condition of the workers at the Birla factory in Delhi when she visited Gandhi in 1946. Birla, the wealthiest native industrialist, had stated that the only recourse for India’s entrepreneurs was “strengthening the hands of those who are fighting for the freedom of the country.”

And Gandhi had a certain propensity for the “good life” himself. He had grown up in a middle-class environment. Although he was of the “grocer” caste, his father had been a minister in the local royal court, a duty traditionally relegated to Brahmans. During all of his civil disobedience campaigns, During resided in the homes of the wealthy landowners and a mill owner, not with the laborers. When in Delhi, he lived in the home estate of Birla. Birla’s repute was such that an expose on the machinations of the Indian industrialists, The Mysteries of the House of Birla, was named for him. Margaret Burke-White pleaded with Gandhi to go see how Birla’s laborers lived, but he refused. Birla personally financed Gandhi’s Sevagram ashram for years. Gandhi was staying in his personal quarters at the Birla mansion when he was assassinated.

Mr. Panday’s voice interrupts my thoughts, “The Raj of the British Empire was for the sole purpose of milking and bilking the people. A native Government for the sake of the people had to change completely its ideals, structure, and methods. But it remained the same. The faces were now brown instead of white, that was the only change. Gandhi had spent years working out a plan for a self-sufficient economic and political system, one that would require much less government. The ideas were there ready to implement.

“A plan that outlined the new indigenous Government had been drafted twenty-five years before. It stressed a maximum of local autonomy and a minimum of control by state and central governments. The traditional village panchayat (council of five) system, which everyone was familiar with from the remotest village to the executive suites of Delhi, would be the natural foundation of Government.”

“But the Europeans used the rationalization of superiority due to Christianity, white skin, and intellect to exploit ‘the heathens,’ what excuse do these Indians have?” I question him, trying to keep calm. I hate it when my voice gets heated because the Indians are always so cool-tempered.

“I cannot tell you. It is a mystery to me. One of our own people was appointed as Education Minister, but he could not implement a single change. Nehru just ignored him. The public schools retained the old British curricula. The closing of our school here because a Government school was built along side it is common; even though many areas are without any schools at all.”

So drained of its natural resources, its traditional crafts and guilds destroyed, its native education system annihilated—India set out to form a nation with leaders who were intent on making up for their personal losses. I am afraid that’s the story of democratic India. I have to wonder if one of these days the Bharatis will realize who they are and turn back to their traditional roots. The foreign British vacated India fifty years ago, but they had stayed too long.

They left behind a nation of imitators.

Chapter Fifty-two

A Unique Type of Trip

My next adventure is back in Andhra Pradesh, after a respite in Bombay and Pondicherry. My first encounter with Jeevashram seemed to be a coincidence, but the Hindus say there are no accidents. Once while I was visiting Usha, I happened to glance at a newspaper laying on the dining table. Usha occasionally buys a newspaper, but I rarely have time to look at it when I am in Pondy since I am preoccupied with researching and editing. However, the page happened to be opened to an unusual ad that caught my eye. There was to be a one week spiritual retreat in Madras, at a low cost of only 100 Rps. ($5). But the intriguing part was a blurb that promised a trip to Satya Loka. As we know, there are seven heavens, for we have the expression in English, “the seventh heaven.” In this “realm (loka) of truth (satya),” one receives the highest esoteric teachings—we did not know that.

I become quite intrigued: “Usha, did you see this ad? They promise a trip to Satya Loka. . . Well, it’s not enlightenment, but it may be next best thing while someone is hanging around waiting.”

Usha comes over to check out the ad. “It does sound interesting doesn’t it?” she has to admit.

Then as she reads the ad closely and notes the address, she exclaims, “Nancy, you’re not going to believe this, but I think these are people from the school in Andhra where I taught for two years. You know, the one where the director was an interesting guru-type. He was purchasing land to start a spiritual community, which he intended to support with the income from the school. Even then they were making plans to have meditation retreats.”

“Did you ever go to Satya Loka while you were there?” I immediately query her.

“Oh, no. They never discussed their plans with me. I just caught bits and pieces.”

So following the directions on the map, which I received with my registration, I find my way to a gate labeled “God’s Garden” in a tiny village near Madras. I sign in for the retreat on the shady verandah of a small white cottage. Krishna, a teen-ager with a wide friendly smile, grabs my suitcase to carry to the women’s quarters. There I find myself inside a large thatched hut with a high-pitched ceiling of beautifully woven palm leaves. In this shady, airy space, I will eat and sleep—in silence—for the next week. Krishna later confided that my response to their newspaper ad had been the first one—this put me in the auspicious category. Everyone was eager to see who Nancy was.

In the group of twenty-five participants, there were a half dozen Europeans. As typical here for any spiritual lecture or retreat, three-fourths of the Indians participants are men. Of course, the events I attend are oriented to the intellectual aspects of Hinduism. If I were visiting a temple, the women would probably predominate.

In spite of the spacious quarters, that first night I cannot sleep for the noise. Evidently, a host of creepy crawlies appreciate the thatched ceiling for reasons other than beauty. Every time I am about to sleep, a strange noise sends a shock through my nervous system and wakes me up. It’s mostly the lizards running about, and they also squeak. Then sometime past midnight, a car arrives, evidently with the main teacher, so a group of men are talking outside for over an hour. I will not be able to spend another night like this, I lament, as I crawl out at the 4:00 a.m. bell, feeling sure I have not slept at all. Me—without sleep—becomes the worse creature imaginable. By constantly watching to keep myself in relaxed state, somehow I make it through the first day. Thank goodness, that night I collapse into such a deep sleep that an army brigade marching through the room could not have awakened me.

I am glad I managed to sleep because I am finding the material and the techniques are quite unique. The basic goal is make contact with one’s inner Guru. A concept that certainly rings true for independent me. Best of all, I am able to meditate all day without any particular problem. That in itself is a positive experience for me.

After several days, twenty or so participants have settled into quiet meditation; the others have left. Shankar, the teacher, guides us into re-experiencing the enlightenment experiences and consciousness of a number of saints and sages. I know it sounds impossible, but Shankar proved to us that you can actually re-experience firsthand any event that you have knowledge of—like purposeful active imagination. The value of this particular exercise is to recognize the difference and uniqueness of each spiritual teacher. Even that concept intrigues me, for I had never really thought of enlightenment as being unique for different individuals.

Since I had been to the ashram of Ramana Maharshi recently, I had specifically read the description he wrote of his realization—so powerful it caused him to leave home. I find that his experience is particularly easy to tune in on—or imagine—if you prefer. Again, I am well informed about the realization of the Buddha; therefore, I had an incredible experience of quiet expansion in running that memory tape. Of course, I know I have a vivid, and a sensitive imagination—that’s why I never ever watch violent or horror films. However, everyone in the room seems to be successful with the technique.

Toward the end of the week, we all get ready for the big “trip” to Satya Loka. First, we have to go through several procedures for the purpose of clearing our chakras (energy centers along the spine). Also to prepare ourselves, we have been eating a sparse vegetarian diet and maintaining total silence, except for the one-hour classes of theory that Shankar gives each morning and evening when we can ask questions. When Shankar describes it, the trip seems easy, but I still have some intrepidity about my ability—good imagination or not. So to make it easy on myself, I create a huge golden eagle in my mind to carry me there. It was quite a trip; we even passed through an area with high rocky cliffs.

When I finally make it, I discover Satya Loka to be a totally golden region; that is, even everyone is radiant with a golden essence. I landed right in the central courtyard, which is a huge temple of golden columns just like the ones of the ancient Greeks. Across the front of the court is a wide staircase with about twenty steps. A verandah stretches across the top of the stairs with columns decorated with intricate golden festoons. In the center of this platform, I see the high court area—the real power spot. Later I seem to remember there were several people there, but at the time all I am aware of is a majestic throne with a deity, who appears to be the ruler of this region. At that moment, I feel too shy to approach him, so I sit quietly over to the side, beside a tall column. At this moment, I am not sure what to do. I wish I had thought of some question to ask. Obviously, this experience is in my own consciousness and it is up to me to use it for my benefit. I was so worried about making the trip that I am simply not prepared for being here!

The Vedas are fundamentally monotheistic, that is all gods and powers rest in the one fundamental supreme Brahman who is without any attributes. To the Hindu, if another religion worships another god, it’s a “join the party; there’s room for everyone” sort of attitude. For example, the Old Testament portrays an attitude in which the prophet Elijah killed the priests of Bal after besting them in a contest. In contrast, when Gautama Buddha defeated the scholars of his time in philosophical debate, they placed him in a place of honor in the Hindu hierarchy as one of the great Incarnations of Lord Vishnu. Again, centuries later when Adi Shankarcharya defeated the Buddhist thinkers, they became his disciples.

Apart from the intellectual debates and treatises, the populace kept worshipping their old gods. The old gods were needed; they were energy fields created for begetting earthly wealth in any and all forms. Nonetheless, no one doubts that Brahman was the Supreme. Even the most illiterate villager will know that the idol he worships is a symbol for a reality he cannot comprehend.
To illustrate this point, an intriguing story is given in the Kena Upanisad, one of the ten major philosophical treatises in the Vedas. In an insightful allegory, the teacher clearly elucidates the relationship between the gods and Brahman. The story goes like this:

One day there appeared in the heavenly realms a beautiful apparition, rather nebulous, but very pleasing to the eye. The gods were intrigued, so straight-away one of them set out to investigate the phenomenon. The first to approach the form was Lord Fire.

To introduce himself, he boasted, “I am Agni Deva; I am so powerful that I can burn up anything on earth with just the touch of a finger.”

“Oh, really. I am certainly impressed,” replied the apparition. “So why don’t you just show me what you can do.” With those words it produced a straw out of thin air and laid it at Lord Agni’s feet. “Let me see you burn this straw.”

With full confidence at the easy task, Lord Fire nodded his head, rolled his eyes, and struck the straw with his finger. Nothing happened. He trembled with disbelief, gathered his energy, and touched the straw again. Again nothing happened. Something very strange was going on. He shook his head in disbelief as he slinked back to the other gods who were observing from the sidelines.

When they heard the details, they could hardly believe such a strange thing. Incensed at this challenge to their power, Lord Wind volunteered that he would go and check out the apparition. He approached it and introduced himself, “I am Vayu Deva. I am so strong and powerful that I can make anything fly through the air at great speeds.”

“Oh, really. I am certainly impressed,” ventured the apparition. “So why don’t you just show me what you can do.” Uttering these words, it produced a straw out of thin air and laid it at Lord Vayu’s feet. “Let me see you move this straw.”

Vayu Deva huffed and he puffed, but he could not move that little straw. He tried again and again. His head hung in embarrassment as he returned to his cohorts and told them that he certainly could not explain what was going on.

They all agreed that this was an assignment for Indra, the king of the gods (at least in the Vedic period before the gods of temple worship were created). He agreed to get this phenomenon straightened out once and for all. But strangely, as Indra proudly sauntered over to the form, it disappeared completely. Moments later, in its place materialized the Goddess Uma, who is both consort of Lord Siva and a teacher to the gods. They all fell at her feet and begged for an explanation of the strange occurrence.

When she spoke, she admonished them, “Where do you think you get your power? Have you forgotten that you are only instruments of one Supreme? Without that power, you can do nothing.”

Later, Shankar questions me about my trip to Satya Loka to see if I had any particular encounter with the deity. He is quite scientific about keeping records to see if everyone experiences the same phenomenon. We discuss my reservations about deities and how I can find such a trip useful. Then, he mentions that if I keep my golden eagle, I can return any time I want to because there is even a huge library I can visit. “Oh, the eagle is not necessary, Satya Loka is just a thought away,” I retort with a smile. “I just made things hard on myself.”

The devout Hindus have the concept of the “Lord of the Heart.” This Lord will have a mantra associated with it that will have been handed down through their family or given by a Guru. To them this deity, who has long term associations, qualifies as their inner Guru. So I am not sure how the concept of inner Guru will apply to me. At the moment, I feel happy to sit in a very peaceful silence, and not to concerned about contacting any “inner guru.” Therefore, I am quite surprised, when suddenly, I see in front of me the shape of a swami, dressed in orange, sitting cross-legged, looking me straight in the face. It’s not anyone I recognize, so at first I wonder if he has any significance. At the moment, with this question in my mind, the swami pops right into my heart center. About that time, Shankar turns on some music, which means we have five minutes until the session ends.

As the music begins to play, the swami begins speaking to me very softly in rhythm with the music: “My child, my child, my dear, dear child. Don’t you know I’ve always been with you, always watching, always waiting. When you reached out to help someone, it was only I. When you reached out to hurt someone, it was only I. Always watching, always waiting. Never judging, never condemning. I was there—always watching, always waiting.”

Suddenly, my mind flashes back to a silly incident from the past. “See, my child, wasn’t I there even then, showing you the hollowness of life. You think much of your life was a loss and waste of time, but you were observing, you were learning. You were learning more than you think.”

Tears start flowing down my cheeks as I feel the compassion and love. My mind feels as if it could accept the whole world without any complaint. What is it that makes us want to judge and limit this big beautiful panorama of a myriad of people places critters experiences. It is just too incredible to ever want to disturb. After a few minutes, I perceive that people are moving around a bit to limber up for the next 30-minute meditation session. I lie back on my straw mat and melt into a conscious contentment and peace. I sit easily through the next two or three 30-meditation periods in a truly deep silence. Later when I discuss the experience with Shankar, he feels that it was a relevant contact with my “inner guru.”

I left the retreat feeling quite enthused that my meditation practice had reached a new level. However, it was not the case. I was unable to sustain the energy on my own, so my meditation practice continued in its usual mode of ups and downs.

Over a year later, I have an opportunity to go to Jeevashram School to meet Vijay, the progenitor of the retreat system. I wrote him of my desire to visit the school and meet him. Although I had not maintained the level of meditation, the experience of the retreat continued to remain a vivid memory. The school secretary had replied by return mail that I would be most welcome. Although Vijay is the principal Guru, I had not met him because he does not attend the retreats himself. Wishing to avoid the propensity of the Indians to hang onto Gurus, he remains at the school continuing his work as director and does not change his schedule at all during the retreats.

Since I wrote ahead, they know the approximate date of my arrival. The bus from the train station stops right in front of the school where I trudge up a dirt path to a long verandah with an office. The clerk there seems to know who I am, so, without any explanations, he accompanies me to a room further down the verandah. As we step inside with bare feet, I encounter a stout long-haired man about forty years old, seated behind a short-legged, rectangular table. The table seems to serve as a fortress to keep people at arm’s distance.

Vijay is the brains and inspiration behind the meditation retreats. As he recommends to others, he lives a normal life in the world. He takes very seriously his job of running the residential school with one-hundred residential students and another fifty from surrounding villages. He is married to a dynamic woman who helps him immeasurably with his work of keeping up this little community. Vijay is definitely not the quiet scholarly type; in fact, he is quite talkative and animated. Every day he impresses me with his broad span of spiritual knowledge from every religious tradition.

During our first meeting, I mention to him my curiosity about my experiences in the retreat the past year. “As I had written you in my letter, when I came to India this time I really wanted to find an environment for regular and more intense spiritual practice. Not that I think I can sit and meditate all day; I know I can’t—actually, I wouldn’t even want to. However, when I sit to meditate, I want to be able to cut myself from the external and mental world to be at peace. That is my meditation goal.

“I had been in India for over a year when I saw the ad in the newspaper promising a trip to Satya Loka. Having studied Vedanta, I told myself: Well, it may not be highest enlightenment, but it’s better than Bhu Loka [the earth realm]. At least it’s a step in the right direction.”

“I would say I went to the intensive with an open mind, willing to listen to the teacher, try the techniques, and then judge for myself. I’ll have to say during the intensive I was quite pleased with the whole program. I found it easy to sit for the long periods, even though we did not even have a cushion. My meditation was quite deep and peaceful—even blissful part of the time. I felt good, like ‘I am on track.’ But the truth is, after the retreat, the lights went out completely.”

“I see,” Vijay comments. “Of course, we wondered what happened to you.”

“I was quite disappointed when I was not able to keep up the momentum of that week. Of course, any experience is helpful in giving one a little faith. So this brings me to my essential question: Can one person actually help another on the spiritual path? Of course, I know it is possible to give another some guidance. At times, something a Guru, or even an ordinary persons, may say something that is helpful for another. But is it possible to really uplift another spiritually? How is it possible? That is what my basic question.

“Also can the upliftment be permanent or is it some ‘golden carrot,’ so the seeker then has some courage to plod on for himself.” I seem to keep rattling on until Vijay picks up the thread and starts answering me.

Finally, he reacts, “Okay. I get your point. I know you must have heard of the morphogenetic field. If something happens to one member of a particular species, it can have some impact on the other members of the species even at a distance.

“To me the individual does not exist. There is no such an entity as a Nancy, or a Freddie, or a Shankar to me. The existence of different individuals is only a mental concept. In the intensive, we create an energy field, like a large balloon. If a human being is able to reach a high level of consciousness and hook onto that expanded energy field for some time, then indeed there can be a permanent change. We expected to hear from you, but you didn’t turn up. So that indicates it was only temporary in your case.”

I interject, “In the intensive, Shankar said to practice the techniques for one year, then come back. So when I did not practice at all, there was no reason for me to contact you.”

“Shankar was pleased with your experiences and your level of silence during the retreat. Actually, we expected to hear from you before now.”

“You know one issue is my Vedantic no-god concepts. I knew that a trip to Satya Loka was not the highest, but I did not expect to see a deity there.”

“Why not? Satya Loka has many teachers. If you would have investigated further, you would have found quite a variety of sages there.”

The second day, I have a real surprise when I go over to the office to meet Vijay for afternoon tea. I find that Shankar has arrived and is sitting out on the lawn talking with Vijay. He expresses quite a surprise too; Vijay had not informed him of my arrival. We spend a great week discussing India, philosophy, and spiritual masters for hours on end. . . long into the night. I am continually impressed. They have unlimited knowledge of the many teachers and schools of thought, even European ones. However, Shankar’s major influence was J. Krishnamurti. His mother has even translated some of Krishnamurti’s books into an Indian language. On the other hand, Vijay has spent his whole life in spiritual inquiry and did not have one particular teacher.

Of course, I recount some of my adventures in spiritual India, but we do not speak of anything of a personal nature. However, one morning after Shankar returned to his home in Madras, Vijay takes the opportunity to make some personal comments to me.

“Your problem is you have no self-confidence. You think small concerning yourself,” he begins.

“The truth is I have had no feedback in my life to build any self-confidence. Even in scholarly or creative endeavors, any praise has been extremely rare. My family has been particularly determined to see me in an inferior light.”

“But you have a lot of clarity. You are quite precise when you communicate. Your intellect is quite fast in understanding my points. I feel we have been actually communicating this past week.” He looks me in the straight in the eyes and asks, “Aren’t we?”

“Yes, I do understand what you are saying.”

Then he goes on to comment, “Your heart center is very good, especially for an adult. An adult’s heart center will never have the purity of a child’s. The quality of the heart center determines how others react and relate to you.

“Your agneya [third eye] center is good. This enables you to think so clearly.

“Your vishuddi, or throat, center is also good, so spiritual experience is possible. The throat center is the seat of communication. It must be open and in good condition to have spiritual experiences.”

“Well, if you consider the heart center as compassion, the throat as communication and the third eye center as intellect, that is definitely where I live,” I comment with a chuckle.

“So if these three higher chakras are in good condition, one can become a spiritual seeker. But then your muladhara, base chakra, is not as sound, so you do not get the required kundalini energy. Your chakras are bright, but the muladhara is not supplying the needed voltage to the other centers.

“So your concern now is the muladhara, the power supply. So that is the first step, to energize it, so the energy is maintained in the other centers.”

“What are the causes of weak power in muladhara?”

As always, Vijay answers quickly, hardly pausing to think. It’s amazing to observe such an incredible brain in action. I wonder how he can stuff so much information into one small space. How is his brain different than mine?

“It could be due to your diet. At times, it could even be due to atmospheric conditions. It can simply be due to not having the right human company. Even being an object of another’s frustrated thoughts can suppress the muladhara. Another problem is, here in India, you have not been eating the high protein and nutritious diet that you are accustomed to, that could make a difference.”

“Really, I don’t know if that is the problem. The truth is, although I have a strong muscular frame, I have had low energy and lack of stamina all my life,” I comment.

Again he gives an immediate reply, “Also, your tendency not to have the confidence to think you can make your goals will definitely cause lack of energy. When I look at your aura, I see that you have spots on the area of your hands and your throat. Both the spots and streaks represent disappointments and frustrations—in general. In particular, the spots on the hands relate to frustration in action, and on the throat in communication. So although you have acted and communicated, even though it may have been appropriate, it has not been accepted by those around you.”

I return to my room with a lot to think over. I am sharing a room in the back of the large complex of buildings with a thin dark young woman, who turns out to be the teacher of Telegu, the language in this area. Exceptionally kind and cheerful, she totally takes me in tow to show me around. She always makes sure that I get my share of the food, saving a plate for me if I am delayed because of talking with Shankar and Vijay.

Interestingly, I am present one afternoon when her father shows up with a young man. I am wondering, it’s the last week of school, why did he come all this way when she will be home in a couple of days? She takes one look at the men and walks out of the room. I follow her, asking what is going on. Then she explains that her father has brought the young man to be considered as a prospective husband. I am utterly amazed that a father would just show up with an engagement proposal. But she is not fooled, she explains that since classes are nearly over, there is some time pressure. Her father wants to impress the young man by showing him that she is a school teacher. She then sends me to motion her father out of the room, so that she can confer with him privately.

Of course, the father is dumbfounded at being motioned at by a white face and approaches me very humbly. When he gets outside, he sees his daughter and understands, so they start conferring in the shade of a tree. Obviously, the young man has no idea what to do since he is left just sitting there in the room looking at me. After a few minutes, he gets the picture; he leaves the room and disappears down the path into the mango grove.

“But the young man appeared quite agreeable. Why didn’t you at least meet him?” I query her after her father left. After all, we are in India. Young people are lucky to be able to even have a look at their husband or wife ahead of time. This is progress.

“I’m not about to marry that idiot. I have picked my own husband—my cousin. My father doesn’t know it yet, but my mother does,” she informs me.

“And she approves?”

“Oh, yes. No problem there. But we aren’t so sure about my father. He has his own ideas.”

“And your cousin will be able to support you?”

“Yes, he has a shop. I will not have to work. I won’t be returning here to teach next year.”

The following day, an unpleasant incident informs me that the young woman is an untouchable, or a Harijan, as Gandhi called them. I had gone for a walk over to the nearby village—specifically to get a cup of tea. On my return, I run into the young teacher, so we return to the school together. June is India’s hottest month; this one is no exception. It is devastatingly hot, so when we reach the school, I stop off at the nearest spot next to the girl’s meditation hall to get a drink of water. I motion to her to come on and have some water. I notice she hesitates, but then she does follow me. Just as we are downing the water—Indian style, you do not touch the cup to your lips—Vijay’s wife comes roaring up to us. She shouts something in Telegu at the young lady, who obligingly takes off.

I am aghast. How can anyone treat another in such a manner, especially a teacher in the establishment? Vijay’s wife shrugs my astonishment off with the comment, “Those people can’t come in here where we have our meditations.” Again this is India with all their contradictions. Fortunately, I have personally witnessed very few incidents of overt discrimination like this one in all my three years of travel.

Chapter Fifty-three

An Expression of Love

Although I was really on my way home when I stopped by here, at Vijay’s suggestion, I decide to delay my departure. He recommended that I repeat the retreat, which is coming up in a couple of weeks. Once the school has closed, he gives daily classes on spiritual texts to a group of brahmacharis whom he is training to lead retreats. Nevertheless, he still takes some time to answer any questions. I usually attend the student’s classes and likewise they join in on our discussions. In addition, an occasional visitor from Madras or Bangalore comes for a day or so and joins us.

All the young trainees are exceptionally bright talented intelligent kids in their late teens. Some of them, specially the girls, are unusually intuitive. Since their natural inclination is nurtured with the spiritual knowledge here, they certainly will have an excellent opportunity to live an authentic life. These young girls remember their past lives, even the details of their sexual activity, so they are not carried away with it now. In fact, they remember so much that they say that they are not interested in marriage. One girl saw that her son had difficulty weeping when she died, and her husband was actually relieved to see her go. So she is not eager to sign up for another forty years of cooking and housekeeping for that type of reward. When the girls start talking about marriage they are really hilarious because they really have some vivid insights. Even so, I remain the practical one and warn them that it’s a bit early to cut their options. “The hormones may get you yet,” I tease them.

One day Vijay tells me, “So you’ve been taking irregular steps: a little here and a little there; therefore, you have been making progressing even though you are not aware of it. You have been going to various seminars and retreats, getting some solutions and trying them out. So over-all you have come a long way. This is the only way a worldly person can function, along with their commitments, responsibilities, and jobs.

“To me, the best chance for enlightenment is in the thick of life anyway. One year you are intense, then you cool off. Then again you are at it, exploring in your own way. Actually, it is apparent that you have made progress because there is so much clarity in you—no matter what subject we are discussing. So tell me how many Nancys can you bring me? You see, it would be difficult to find another with your clarity and experience.

“You must begin to communicate and express yourself. The best thing is for you to attend the next retreat in Madras. That will help to give you confidence by removing some mental blocks and bringing up your kundalini energy. Remember vak (speech) and kundalini (coiled) are linked. So if energy is high a lot of expression will naturally be forthcoming.”

At that time we had been joined by a Swede, Freddie, who had been in my original retreat, along with the gentleman who actually owns “God’s Garden,” where the retreats are held. They want to know more about the kundalini, and of course I am all ears.

Vijay opens up with his wealth of knowledge, “Kundalini is the finale of all psychic phenomena, even physical disease. If the person’s kundalini can be tackled, any problem can be solved. That is why I tell people: Be functional, run a school, own a tea shop, whatever. To your karma [work] according to your innate talents, but with full awareness. So in the thick of life when you confront an obstacle, there is a chance you may get a satori, an insight.

“Subtle energy is a three-sided triangle: kundalini, breath, mind or insight. Whenever you have a mental insight, you change the kundalini and breath. If you change your breath, you touch kundalini and mind. So in the retreats we work on all three aspects together, this leads to transformation. A peak experience occurs when you have the meeting of all three.

“Maslow thought that you cannot have peak experiences at will. But you can have experiences if you maneuver these three. So western psychology does not have a handle on the kundalini, but we Hindus do. So that’s where the difference lies.”

We digress for five minutes’ discussion on Maslow’s system of human experience. Then Vijay continues, “Even such a simple thing as a change to a new environment can break up crystallized thought patterns and raise the kundalini. Europeans experience it when they come here, and Indians experience it when they go to America. People often experience a silence or bliss the first week. Again this is only kundalini phenomenon.

“To do anything big in life, even a Hitler, an Iococa, an Alexander, you need the power from kundalini support. Our best example is in the case of Gandhi. He was virtually carrying the burden of the entire nation on his shoulders, so he needed a lot of kundalini energy for his brain to function at peak levels. One way to bring it up is through sexual stimulation. Now Gandhi was so righteous, he wouldn’t even sleep with his wife.

“You see, once kundalini is awakened, it has its own intelligence. It will find a way to get the task done, so this intelligence actually put the idea into Gandhi: You think you are such a celibate, why don’t you test yourself? Why don’t you prove it by sleeping with your young niece? She had told him, ‘I have no sexual thoughts.’ His logic was ‘so let’s conduct an experiment to test ourselves.’

“Then there were daily massages, therapeutic, of course, by young girls on his verandah. This all became a national scandal. Patel pleaded with him, but Gandhi insisted it was just a spiritual experiment. The truth is the kundalini was responding and maintaining itself at a higher level, so Gandhi could carry on his work.

“Gandhi was never aware what was really happening. His kundalini was strengthened, but he just kept saying, ‘I’m experimenting.’ But where was the need for continued experimenting. He had already proved his point again and again.”

“That must have been the same with J. Krishnamurti,” I venture.

“The very same. He was always holding hands with beautiful girls at meal times and even during the group discussions. He needed this kundalini supply in the brain, otherwise he could not keep up the energy. When creative power is drying up, it is one of the fastest ways to stimulate it. So it’s really a trap because they have to keep coming back to replenish the energy to keep up their level of achievement.”

“Is this always the case?” I question.

“No, not at all. It would be an individual thing. Then it would also make a difference if one were enlightened. The energy will not sustain itself until it has been ‘pinned up’ to the highest sahasra chakra, at the top of the head.”

After I attend the Madras retreat to get back on track, the next step is to assist Shankar with the retreats. I am really looking forward to working with him, for he is a great facilitator. He knows his material; he knows the techniques—but the main thing is he really cares about people. He and Vijay have been friends since they were small boys. Shankar’s mother tells me that one day, when they were in their early teens, they came home and announced to her that someday they were going to do something to make a positive difference in the world. She sees the retreats as the realization of that goal.

His mother also told me an interesting good Samaritan story about Shankar, which is quite informing about the India milieu. Around Madras, he is known by Dr. Shankar, as he holds a Ph.D. in physics. Before he started the spiritual work, he worked in the scientific community for several years in Germany. Last year, he had noticed that two young scrawny children were always hanging out at a tea stall near his home. When he inquired he found out that they were actually living in the little square of dirt in front of the stall, awaiting the mood of the owner, who occasionally tossed them some bread. Upon finding out that they were orphans, Shankar took the responsibility of getting them placed in a local orphanage. This was possible only because his grandmother had founded the orphanage in the 1920’s, so they accepted the two street children because of his familial connection.

In the meantime, the children’s relatives found out that some “Doctor” had taken them and immediately began protesting that it was for some dark purpose and that he going to sell their kidneys “in the foreign” for lots of money. Not cognizant of the fact that Dr. Shankar was a Ph.D. physicist, not a medical doctor, they actually filed a complaint against him in the court.

Fortunately, again Dr. Shankar had family connections in the courts too, for his father had been a famous attorney who had dedicated his life to working for the poor. Therefore, the judge gave Shankar a fair hearing. Afterward, the judge had the staff of the orphanage bring the children to the sidewalk outside the courthouse, so the relatives could verify that the children were alive and well. Then they were whisked away back to the orphanage without further ado of emotional upheaval, since the relatives did not have any desire to make contact with the children. Their interest was in sharing the U.S. dollars Dr. Shankar was sure to have made. As usual, the many faces of India have both light and dark shadows.

In any event, I definitely feel honored working with Shankar, for I am sure I will learn a lot. The retreats are set-up to enable the participants to have a spiritual experience that will give them the faith to continue in their spiritual orientation in life. Many Indians have been repeating mantras, fasting, chanting—all types of spiritual disciplines all of their lives—but they have had no real spiritual experience. So the purpose of the retreat is to provide the sacred space and some techniques to have a breakthrough. Many of the participants, particularly the elderly ones, have beautiful experiences with very little encouragement. However, the majority do not. So by the second or third day, if they feel they are stuck, we start working on their “mental blocks.” That’s where I come in.

Mental blocks, or knots of the heart, occur when we say “no” to life. Naturally, many are laid down when we are young simply because of our miscomprehension of the circumstances. So I am able to help the English speakers, who are in the majority, unravel some of their misconceptions and hurts.

The Indians are incredibly open and honest in revealing themselves. The stories I hear over the next couple of months would break your heart. Their encounters between their traditional life and the modern methods produce saga after saga of stress and frustration. For the sake of the participants, I prefer not to reveal the particular stories. However, in general, many people persist vividly in my mind. The gentleman whose wife had immolated herself with kerosene while he was at work. The elderly banker who had to take all the bank books home every night to do all the entries to cover for the low-caste clerks who refused to do any work. The daughter-in-law who had to cook for the joint family even when she was ill. The son who was forced to marry so his mother could have a free servant in the home. The boy whose father beat him with a belt because he was not as smart as his other brothers.

Incredible stories; incredible people. Because they find that I am easy to talk to, I become personally involved with several of the young people. The burdens that these young people have to bear to be able to score the best grades, to get the best paying jobs, to marry according to the family’s best interests. In short, they are being forced by their families to live a life not of their own choosing. Of course, I realize that there are thousands of happy young people who are generously supported by their families—both emotionally and financially. These retreats attract people with problems. As expected, the participants are all upper castes, the majority are Brahman. Remember, that’s the caste that has the most rules and duties!

Often when some mental blocks are cleared, the person experiences a powerful insight or even a beautiful blissful states. Some have wonderful breakthroughs. So my monthly trip to Madras turns out to be a very rewarding experience. On the last day of the retreat, all the past participants would come for a reunion. I cannot describe how these people had changed. You could not even recognize some of them; their faces were so light and bright. This was occurring in a period of one or two months. It was phenomenal.

I can honestly say I have never experienced so much love. Do we even know what love is? Even if we feel love, we do not really know how to express it. We tend to use sex as our only expression. Instead of saying “the spirit is willing, the flesh is weak,” Christ could have said, “flesh loves flesh.” Flesh moves toward and connects with flesh, and we call it love. No wonder we often feel cheated, and continue looking for connection. Somehow our culture has not separated the different kinds of love. In both the ancient languages of Sanskrit and Greek, there are two separate words for love: people love and divine love.

In the future, whenever I feel unloving, or unloved, I will always remember the moments I spent in the meditation hall with these special people. I will know I have experienced real love at least once in my life. I truly love life, and I love life on this planet. There are so many lovely places I want to visit. For example, I want to see the hummingbirds and orchids of South America. Yet, sitting here in this meditation hall, I feel so complete, so content. I feel I could sit here for ever and ever, and never mind missing those orchids and hummingbirds.

After each retreat, I would return to Jeevashram to consult Vijay about any issue that had come up during the retreats—and to rest up. Unfortunately, I was finding the retreats quite physically exhausting. I would go through them fine, but afterwards I would crash, mainly due to the lack of sleep. Not only because the woman’s quarters had become quite crowded with participants, but because the energy was so high I found it difficult to sleep. After one retreat, I was even ill with a fever, cough and had totally lost my voice. Fortunately, I found the correct homeopathic remedy, so I cured myself overnight.

Of course, when I return at Jeevashram school, I keep needling Vijay. How does all this beautiful phenomenon happen? He just kept telling me that it’s all in each person—their total history and their total unfolding. Our role in the retreats was only to provide the environment and remind everyone of their true self.

Finally, I had to face the fact: Vijay is the Wizard of Oz. Instead of using a stage and screen, he is several hundred miles away. Even so, he and Shankar are creating an environment where people have faith in themselves. . . and things happened in the energized positive ambiance.

In the meantime, the kids return from school vacation, so Vijay is less available for discussions. He personally gives all the children classes in religion, and takes that duty very seriously. He teaches them something of all the major religions. Interestingly, he sees them as different facets of a perfect truth. Each religion emphasizes a different aspect of life: Islam has its strong moral foundation; Christianity focuses on the development of the heart; Buddhism develops the understanding of the mind and the spiritual path; whereas the Hindus are masters of the states of consciousness. He described to me how the children had wept tears when he told them about the crucifixion of Jesus Christ.

In the evenings before dinner, the brahmacharis and I always join Vijay for discussions. Since the time available is short, they are more informal. We tend to discuss India phenomena—the realities here are mind-boggling—and endless.

Instances of sages bringing people back to life from death here are rare, but they do exist throughout India’s history. Besides the case I already mentioned with Satya Sai Baba, I was also told of a case with a Sindhi sage. Vijay explains to us how it works. He says that a dead person can be brought back to life if the astral cord has not been severed, which is normally up to three days. What the sage actually does is concentrate so powerfully that he sucks the astral body back down into the physical body. The person then returns to the physical, so it appears as if the dead have been brought back to life. However, they were never completely dead.

All the Indians, residents and guests, join in the story telling, while I remain agog—with my tape recorder on so I will not miss anything. One person from Kerala describes how the women there know how to produce a temporary stand-in. For instance, a young mother may be dying who has a small child. She will manifest out of thin air a nurse maid to care for and protect the child until he or she is grown. Then the stand-in dissolves back into the ethers.

Another recounts that the Namboodris (a Brahman caste in Kerala) have a secret technique of animating a dead body. For instance, if a man dies suddenly who has to be present at a function or needs to sign paper, the priests revive the body, so that it appears to function normally to the unsuspecting. The person has no intelligence; he may be able to answer yes or no, something typical of a simpleton. The family will cover for him saying that he is feeling ill today. If he is a religious man, they can say that it is his habit to always observe silence on this particular day of the week. The man does the necessary task and then they leave him to rest in peace.

Another area in which the Hindu sages excel is healing. Traditionally in south India, a person was not considered a true guru unless he could heal others. The siddhas (miracle workers) of Tamil Nadu would use bark, gum or roots of a specific tree to heal any and every ailment. When they died, they were buried under the tree and a small temple was built over them. The Salem and Vindhaya Hills were particularly known as a place one could go to find a siddha for healing. A small hospital in Madras uses the prescriptions that have been collected from various siddhas. Many knew how to communicate plants so that they could make a seed grow into a foot high plant in less than an hour. A variation on the theme is in Orissa. At an annual festival, the local siddhas feed thousands of people from one pot.

While it’s true that the phenomena occur more in south India, particularly in Kerala and Orissa, everyone everywhere has some personal “siddha” story. I particularly liked the one about an American, who was the director of an American bank in Calcutta. He was embezzling a sizable sum of money. His clerk, an Indian, found out about it and confronted him. The director fired him on the spot for insubordination, but the employee refused to leave. So the American consulted a Bengali siddha. Afterwards, the Indian clerk started hearing the words whispered in his ears: “Get out. Get out.” It nearly drove the poor fellow mad so he had to leave.

Just like anywhere else I have visited there is always a thread of the personal reality along with the spiritual life. My first month had been exceptional. But I definitely remember the first leak in the dike of Shangri-la. Before the children returned from vacation, the school principal sent out a letter to the parents in which was included a comment that there was an American woman at the school who was advising them on nutrition, so they could improve the quality of the meals. I do not know who came up with this idea, but it was not true. So I take it to be a hint of something that I can contribute. Immediately, I prepare a list of a few practical simple suggestions that are appropriate in our rural setting, including sprout salads.

At that time, Vijay’s wife was responsible for the kitchen. She was livid at what she called “interference.” From my point of view, it was hardly interference. Then there was the incident when she slapped a couple of girls until their faces were purple because they left a class early when their teacher did not show up. She got angry because I asked them what had happened and consoled them—real angry.

She is quite admirable in many respects. She is a very talented woman and a great boon to the operation of the school. Her coordination of the field hands, the orchard pickers, and the labors of any construction project is awesome. In addition, she personally cooked food for us during the school vacation, which allowed us to sit and discuss philosophy all day. She tried to get okra for her extraordinary okra curry at least once a week since I loved it so. Actually, her cooking was the best food I have had during my travels. Of course, no one can beat Usha’s cooking when I am at “home” in Pondy. Furthermore, she was personally kind to me. When I came back from Madras once with head lice, she patiently combed through my hair, so I would not have to use the lethal shampoo to kill them.

Vijay is quite verbal about the importance of women on the planet. He never criticizes his wife. Well, he did say once that if she needed any improvemeent that she was a smart women, she would figure it out for herself. Several of our conversations have centered around women. He has the traditional Indian point of view: woman is goddess.

One day he commented, “Throughout the world, throughout history, in whatever society, man has put woman down because of his superior physical strength. So we can say the physical has dominated. That is why man has not transformed. This is humanity’s greatest blunder. Woman has the intuition and she must be the teacher. But throughout history, in whatever culture, you find men are the teachers. So something has fundamentally gone wrong. If women were to lead spiritually, the world would be transformed. So men must learn to follow the woman. But if you say that in public, people get incensed. Men will reject it. Even some women won’t accept it either.”

I mention, “Yes, it was quite disappointing in the suffrage movement to find so many women were against women having the vote—even Queen Victoria.”

“See, what I mean. Part of my focus is to regain the balance. That is why at this school we are focusing more on the girls, with the hope that they will become the teachers. I believe the women must lead the way. Likewise, men should follow her example and advice. This means the man’s relationship with his wife must change.”

“Interestingly, during in my travels, I have noted that there are quite a few men who will consult their wives before they embark on a business deal. To obtain a more intuitive point of view,” I comment.

Vijay rejoins, “I’m glad to know that; it can make all the difference. Often someone comes and tells me, ‘Sir, I have a financial problem.’ I tell him: ‘If you go back home and treat your wife as a spiritual being, as a spiritual partner, I give you a guarantee, all your problems will be solved.’ Six months later he comes back and tells me, ‘You were right. It’s all solved.’

“So attitudes toward women must change. The truth is that if you treat a woman like a spiritual teacher, she becomes that. In fact, whatever you treat a woman like, she becomes. Her behavior depends on how you treat her. Treat a man with all respect and love, and he won’t change an iota. Give that same respect to a woman and she will transform.

“I have one girl here whose parents dropped her off declaring ‘she is a useless girl.’ Today she is a different person, but it is very difficult to transform the boys. It is much easier to work with girls and women. You just treat them as spiritual beings, from the heart, and they respond. Do the same thing to a boy or a man and there is simply no response. I’ve witnessed it again and again.”

Another time, he brings up the subject again when several families are visiting from Madras. I do not know if he knew they were having marital problems, or if he just assumed that in India, there will be inequality.

“Men have physical strength, while women have the mental/emotional strength. That’s actually why women live longer; their strength is more of the essence. Change in the very structure of our society has to occur. Today you look at any advertising—from razor blades, coffee, alcohol—a woman is always present to associate the sensual with the product, even men’s products. So women are constantly fed with this erroneous self-image. So man has pulled the woman down and fallen with her,” Vijay comments.

“Woman must be redeemed from her traditional role as a mere housewife, laborer, secretary. Man has to look after her. He has to put her up on a pedestal and make her his Guru. Here in India, we do have the tradition that the woman is spiritual, so men do get the point. But this is just not possible in the West because you do not have the model there that we have here. The woman may have been liberated in the Western countries, but she still does not have the respect she deserves.

“Unless man brings about a transformation in the psyche of the woman by putting her on a pedestal and suppressing his male arrogance, there is no hope for mankind. I am quite clear about that.”

These comments opened the couples up to discuss several of their particular problems. Vijay never seems to get involved with the nitty-gritty of the situations; he just gives them the general format and they have to apply it to themselves.


Then one bright day, the bombshell hit. Vijay came up with an idea that we could have three times as many participants at the retreats. The buildings—which are already crowded—could be divided so that we could have three separate groups. Shankar would take the Tamil speakers, I would lead the English group, and the brahmacharis who are in training could handle the Telegu and Hindi speakers. I remind him that Shankar and I have already complained to him that we honestly are not effectively dealing with the fifty people who are now attending. True, part of this is due to the language problem; we always have at least four distinct language speakers in every retreat. I maintain if Shankar and I, plus a couple of the brahmacharis, are not able personally to handle fifty now, then if will be virtually impossible for one person to do so.

In addition, the kitchen facility is so small that the food is mediocre. Even serving tea or coffee is not possible. I always feel sorry for the participants who are having headaches from caffeine withdrawal while Shankar and I are happily sipping hot spiced tea during our breaks.

“Besides, the printed material emphasizes the benefit of a limited number at each retreat. So what about integrity?” I reproach Vijay.

“Integrity?” he bellows with a disdainful grimace. “Integrity—that’s a silly American thing. We play life looser here. We just can’t get uptight about these details.”

I was completely overwhelmed. The Wizard had come out from behind the screen and exposed himself to be someone I could not deal with. That evening as we sit out on the lawn, I tell Vijay that I have decided it is time for me to go home. He seems to be all right with my decision. Then suddenly, he comes to attention, “Does this mean that you will not attend the Madras retreat next week?”

“I will attend the retreat. Shankar is counting on me, and I certainly won’t let him down.”

I lean back and look up at just as a flock of eight white cranes are winging their way across the pastel blue evening sky. They had been a daily spectacle when I first arrived here. Then in the heat of the summer they had disappeared. Tonight they suddenly reappeared to bid me farewell. The cycle is complete.

Chapter Fifty-four

The Final Curtain

At home, I always think that I am too active, having too little time for solitude and meditation. Here I have been continually aware that I never achieve a balance either. At least I have had both extremes. When I am traveling or in the cities, I am thrown into a whirlwind of activity, yet away from the world I get so much solitude that I begin feeling useless. I keep thinking, wouldn’t it be great to have a life with a little of both? Actually, that desire was the impetus for this trip.

My journey has touched many realities of time. . . physical as well as mental. I have seen people living in simple thatched-roof huts and been in modern high-rises in Bombay. I cannot believe I have been here for three years. Time has passed so fast. On the other hand, it seems as if I have been here forever. Time is such a strange measuring stick for our experiences. Mental time never seems to align with clock time. If we have a lot to do, an hour passes too fast; if we have nothing to do, that same hour can drive us to distraction. So the number of events has to do with our mental time. Of course when we sleep we totally lose our awareness of time. Since there are no events, mental or physical, there is no time. That must be why a quiet meditation of an hour, sometimes seems like ten minutes.

I have just finished my last retreat with Shankar as I had committed to do. Preparing myself mentally and physically for my return to U.S., I stayed in Madras to make the arrangements for my flight. Each evening I sit out on the verandah alone to watch as the stars emerge one by one out of the fading blue sky. What a treat have the leisure to sit out and watch this spectacle, I express my gratitude daily. In the still quiet atmosphere, my mind feels vibrant and alert from all my varied experiences.

Not that I am actually thinking anything. While the potential is there, my mind seems content to remain silent and alert. Secretly, I am watching and waiting for the first signs of the migrating birds. This is my favorite time on the Bay of Bengal coast. Somehow, the spring migration happens overnight; however, at autumn time, the spectacular flights spread out over a couple of weeks.

As the birds begin to fly by, I become fascinated noticing how each species has its own flight pattern. The perfect spot to watch the white cranes is on the roof of the home where I am staying, for they always fly about a city block inland. Most often, I see them in the early morning hours; occasionally, in the late evening, just before dark. One morning while I am sitting out with a cup of tea, a few snowy white egrets fly over. Before I know it a huge flock has extended over the sky. Their ivory wings spread wide seem to fill up the whole blue space. I am totally mesmerized as I behold them soaring overhead. Suddenly, the whole panorama becomes surreal and I forget where I am. The scene could be happening anywhere on the planet, or just in my mind.

In the evenings, I walk along the sea to watch the undulating panoramas of a variety of birds in flight. One group flies high over the edge of the sea; others fly about fifty feet out to sea and appear to skim above the waves. Another species of smaller birds wing their way hovering only ten feet from the shore line. I am filled with delight at watching this incredible sight. Each group is so bountiful that the birds are strung out for what seems like miles. Sometimes it takes five to ten minutes for an individual flock to pass by.

Where do these tiny creatures get the intelligence to know when and where to fly? What wonderful natural intelligence they possess. Scientists continue to tag them and wire them to figure out how they do it, but the real miracle is that they do it.

The cycles of nature come and go on perfectly no matter what I am doing—or not-doing. Each morning as I sit on the verandah watching the white cranes pass over my head, I feel content. As I behold wave after wave of these beautiful birds flying across the bright sapphire sky, I feel that the world is complete. Maybe this is what my journey was about: Just experiencing perfect moments of contentment and peace.

My journey has been a process of stripping my mental layers to see what I can discover. Certainly, I peeled sufficiently to reveal my connection with nature. I am so grateful that I had the time to do so. I have experienced more of a me that I like: one who thinks for herself—I think I will keep that one.

I have had the time to live and breath. I have known incredible moments here. I do give dear Bharata and the Bharatis credit. Truly, India is the home of my heart. Has it made a difference? Does it have meaning for others? Will I be able to share the love I have touched in a hundred small and subtle ways?

          I’ve touched the pristine earth,
          Listened to a bird’s song,
          Smelled the sweetest jasmine,
          Beheld a tiny sunbird bathing in a dew drop,
          Marveled at a galaxy swirling in the face of a flower.

          I’ve wrapped myself in cool silence of a starry night,
          Watched a thousand stars bow to a rising sun.
          Glided on the wings of an eagle across a crimson sea,
          Inhaled the vibrant forest air,
          Listened to the gurgle of a mountain stream.

          Will I ever find a way to tell you
          That this planet is a magnificent gem,
          A crown jewel of god,
          And so are you.

After Thoughts

TO TELL THE TRUTH. . .

For two years, I have sacrificed a lot to be able to put this story down on paper. . . I mean that some days it was my poverty diet. Nevertheless, in many respects, it has been easy. I have experienced many delightful moments as I have relived each episode in my memory. However, the truth is my story did not have a happy ending. Since you know me by now, you will understand that I feel it would not be honest to not share that part.

As you can imagine from my many fascinating encounters, I came back to U.S. feeling full of life and joy. I felt I had so much to give and to share. I was quite surprised to find my friends and family had no interest whatsoever in anything I had done. Were they threatened by my lifestyle? I suppose the thought of spending three years traveling and exploring was off-putting to persons who were committed to sitting behind a desk all day. I honestly didn't feel that I was that different, but I realized I had been plopped into a world I no longer knew. I wanted people to get excited, to go out and have an adventure, yet it appeared that people simply wanted me to sit down, shut up and be content to push papers for some male (or female) chauvinist and complain about my lot in life, like everyone else.

You see the reason I couldn't do that effectively is at one time in my life I had the opportunity to realize material things were not going to get it for me. And I have been affirmed in that perception. I have had many peak experiences, and not even one of them was triggered by money or things money can buy or by working in an office to survive.

However, I was being challenged to give up connection with people. Now really, this was asking too much of me. I was experiencing a deep depression; I had never experienced depression before in my entire life. I also became physically ill, which is a rare occurrence for me. I don’t know how much that had to do with my mental state, but it obviously didn’t help. I kept feeling something was being squashed out of me. I was forced to take a look at what I would label the “transparency of Life.” Certainly, it was my personal disappointments, and I took it personally. Sometimes it seemed like more than that. I wept for a world that didn't care, that wouldn't care, that couldn't see beyond today. Surely, I would continue to face many disappointments if I remained dependent on this world for estimating my value.

What am I doing here? I kept asking myself. The person who less than a year ago sat so peacefully feeling like a citizen of the world was now an alien in the land of her birth. Somehow I managed to keep going—but just barely.

I ended up in Sedona, Arizona. Frankly, I was not enamored with the stark, dry desert reality. I could hardly bear to take in all those red rocks. I wasn’t able to do so for many months, even though I lived perched on the side of Sugarloaf Mountain with an incredible view of Oak Creek Canyon. Daily I was impelled to walk. Often I was up at dawn and completed two hours of hiking before breakfast time. Continually, I found a new place to explore, rarely hiking the same route twice. I breathed in starry nights, fed the quail, tanagers, orioles and hummingbirds, took care of a dear elderly lady, and put my shoulder out of joint digging up tiny plants to transplant into a wild flower garden. I had very little contact with family or friends.

One clear breathless night, as I beheld a full moon creep over the dark red cliffs, I realized that all my pain was gone. The truth was clear; all I will ever be able to count on is myself. I am all I will ever have; somehow I must be all I need. The next morning, I unpacked my computer and started writing about my travels—and travails—in India.

Although I had written journals during my travels, it took me several years to unravel the story on paper. The words kept stretching out to be an awesome thousand pages. Even though I cut many details, I embellished others. The finale of my journey occurred when I was working on the material of my stay at Jeevashram. I was going over my notes of several lengthy conversations with Vijay, which dealt with the kundalini phenomenon.

First, I realized that he had clearly told me, but not directly, that the experience I had in Bangalore was the awakening of my kundalini. Over and above that info, he talked about some manifestations caused by the biological process of kundalini. Here were all the answers to my dilemma of life upon my return to the U.S. Suddenly, I had the whole picture. I understood why I went through depression; why I didn’t meditate regularly here; why I felt well for only short periods of time—usually when I was alone. Since I lacked valid interaction with the external world, I had been forced inward to process and develop my inner life. Life encompasses it all—it does not discriminate. Only minds discriminate.

I had had all the information I needed to go through the experiences with foresight, but the data had gone out of my head into a notebook, which had been packed away until now. I have to console myself with the thought that hindsight is far better than no-sight. Haven’t I always said that I am one person who just has to find out things for myself. I feel much more integrated and centered. . . and free of this world called the “united states,” even though most persons here prefer to navigate their lives in “scattered states.”

What I have to say may not be relevant in the world today. I have come to understand that I dance to an uncommon tune. But I wanted to tell my story so that if it touches you, you too may have the courage to dance to your unique melody.