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The Memoirist Passages
The Years 1986-1995 In late 1986, still recovering from my battle with cancer, ticket arrangements were made for me to travel to India. It was time for m to meet my teacher, Guru Mahatma Mah. Having never been out of the United States, I was truly like a fish out of water. Upon my arrival I was greatly surprised with India. The frantic airport in Bombay left me in a spin. The Indian people rushing in and out gave me no clue to what I would witness on the streets. My instructions were to wait by baggage entrance No. 4, with its green arch. I no sooner arrived and I heard a vice, "Nabu! Nabu!" Sitting in an old jeep with now windshield was a very slender young man dressed in an orange cloth robe of sorts. He motioned to me, "come," waving his tiny had in excitement. I was surprised to find that he spoke English extremely well but preferred to converse in French. Luckily, I spoke some French. We must go now or we will miss dinner. I remember thinking, "Boy! I must be entering boot camp." Off we went into the dusty air, not fighting traffic so much as pedestrians all frantically walking in every direction. I had never seen anything like this in my life. I was fascinated but my enthusiasm was dulled by my 26 hour flight. It was late afternoon India time and the sun had begun to set. Soon we had left the city limits and I found myself on a dirt road. The road was surrounded on both sides by land being cultivated for farming. I was full of questions and rather fascinated by the driver. I had noticed that he looked like a teenage boy, youthful in looks but his body posture was that of an old man. I would later find out that he was a eunuch. By his appearance I would have guessed his age around 17. I was later told that my driver was 66 years old. His youthful appearance was because of castration at an early age. Without experiencing puberty and undergoing the normal hormonal changes the aging process is halted. Lacking the sexual drives the eunuch can pass through life undistracted by matters of the flesh and be focused on their station of service. This is a practice that has now been outlawed in India. "His name is Bhaga," the driver told me, speaking of himself in the third person. I was completely astounded. How strange, I thought. He told me to be quiet now as we were approaching the ashram of Guru Mah. "She can hear our conversation. She has followed the path of the great ones and the great ones have followed her path. Be quiet please." I felt completely embarrassed as I realized that I had been chatting constantly since we left the airport.
I Meet My Teacher, Guru Mah The sun was setting in a rich golden orange color and the heat of the day was lifting. Bhaga and I had been driving for approximately one hour and thirty minutes taking us near Baroda. The jeep began climbing a steep hill and as if a magical doorway opened we could see in the distance the ivory white rooftop. This was the ashram of Guru Mah. A sharp flash of intimidation flooded my stomach. Bhaga allowed the jeep to slow down to a snail's pace.
As we drove through the gates I could see a small figure standing in the doorway. "There she is," Bhaga said in a happy voice, "there stands your Guru." The jeep pulled up to the stairs and down came the little lady. Her white sari seemed not to touch the ground. "Welcome, Nabu. Allow me to take your suitcase to the sleeping rooms." I was completely overtaken with emotion. After all, there was a holy and powerful Guru taking my luggage in the ashram, in a sweet maternal voice saying, "Always in service, always in service." "Go now into the dining hall and place nourishment in your stomach." The setting sun at this point had turned everything a bright orange. The orange flow came in through all the windows creating a surreal feeling of being on another planet. Dinner consisted of plentiful soup and sweet breads. "Seat Nabu next to our dinner guest," she said to Bhaga. I was seated next to the delightful man with thick glasses and an extremely amusing childlike giggle. He was telling stories about the antics the small green monkeys displayed for him earlier this morning. He shaved and I was allowed to take a bath in the nearby creek. The practice of shaving the head of a new arrival is done to represent the letting go of ego and vanity. "Who was that man?" I questioned one of the monks. "He is so charming and pleasant." In a soft serious voice the monk said, "That was the Dalai Lama." Must be somebody important, I thought. At the time I had no idea who the Dalai Lama was. These surroundings were all strange and new to me. I had difficulty sleeping the first night as I was not accustomed to sleeping on a floor of sand that often held suprises like scorpions and an occasional snake or two. The mosquitoes were extremely intense but not biting anyone. I felt alone and far away from home. Sleep finally came as a blessing in the night.
November 9, 1986
My first morning at the ashram gave me a very vivid taste of true spiritual discipline and devotion. I woke up to the sound of a woman's voice singing in the courtyard, I felt disoriented by the black darkness of night. The mosquito net around my sleeping g area had a blue hue from the moonlight streaming through the cracked window shutters. I felt a tap on my shoulder. "Nabu, it's four a.m. Come to the courtyard. Guru Mah will lead Satsanga." I stumbled into my initiate robe and fumbled putting on my sandals. I was still feeling the effects of jet lag from the long chain of flights it took to get me to Bombay. Walking down the long hallway to the courtyard, I could see that Guru Mah was sitting next to a small fire. Approaching the scene I realized that she had her hand in the fire moving the logs around. I froze dead in my tracks watching this spectacle. I could not see any trace o pain on her face. She sat there singing Sanskrit prayers of devotion with a symphonic brilliance that brought tears to my eyes. She turned and looked at me right in the eye continuing her beautiful harmony. After rearranging the logs to her desire she began chanting and all joined in. Four hours later at eight a.m. the bell rang for breakfast. It was practically stampeded. Four hours of chanting can work up a big appetite. During breakfast conversation I was content to listen to the monks speaking of Guru Mah's nocturnal activities. I then realized that she does not sleep. Being curious enough to overcome my shyness I began asking questions. The monks were very eager to answer my questions. "She does not sleep at all," one said politely. "She spends most of the night sitting in front of her small fire in prayer. When she is not in prayer you are most likely to find her doing Kriya yoga." Another monk spoke that she has not slept in over thirty four years. "She has no need for sleep. She regenerates her body with prana. The hand of God moves within her," Bhaga told me. "But do not find yourself enamored by her powers, save she will hit you on the side of the head with her walking stick." I felt this was an exaggeration of consequences. I was soon to learn otherwise when in a later darshan one of the initiates fell asleep during one of her speeches. She continued with her speech walking gently over toward him and bopped him up the side of the head startling the man into shivers. I felt doomed as I was there to study Samadhi which is a form of Kriya-induced deep sleep. Her ability to read minds became apparent to me as she began walking over toward me saying, "Nabu, you are here to deepen your skill as an Oracle. Your practicing the indigenous yogas that pertain to your particular incarnation are the reason that you are here, rest easy."
copyright ©1998 SWAMI SRI NABUJI, contact at: nabu4u@comcast.net |
with special permission:
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