Page 90 of And Still Her Voice
And Grandma yelled, “What? My house!”
“The money is so you can buy a ticket home, and other incidentals.”
“Thank you, Mom, and I’ll come home just as soon as I get back from India.”
“India?” Mom asked in a tone of disappointment. “You’ve lost your mind?”
“That’s the goal.”
“You may as well go to the moon.”
***
At the end of 1970, by the time I caught up with Swami Satchidinanda in Bombay and his young American followers, they’d already traveled through Europe collecting more young devotees like souvenirs. They’d even met the Pope who blessed them on the holy path they’d chosen under Swami’s divine guidance.
I remained on the fringe watching as women in colorful saris and men in white cotton tunics and dhoti loincloths or lungi sarongs greeted him wherever he arrived with leis and fruit. Children rushed to touch him and help him with his bags as followers bowed their heads and folded their hands prayer-like. Satchidinanda, dressed in an ochre-colored kasaya, laid his hands on the group to bless them. Later, as he sat, an older woman with a bindi on her forehead began the ritual of anointing Swami from his head to his toes, offering milk to cleanse the surrounding aura.
Sometime after, we devotees accompanied the Swami through the marketplace. As he purchased some fruit, huge crowds swarmed around him like bees to honey, their sweet faces an indication of their deep spiritual heritage. After he made the way to his car, his driver had to be careful not to run anyone over.
The next day, in the home of another host, friends and relatives gathered for a puja at his feet as a sign of worship and then Swami began with songs and devotions as some, legs crossed, listened to his words. “Yoga is the master key to open everything. If you want to open the heart of your beloved, we have yoga. If you want to open the heart of the scriptures, we have yoga. Health, wealth, strength, everything can be opened with yoga. That is why it is universal.”
Afterward, the disciples came one by one to receive his blessings and to ask his personal advice.
Thinking I’d have more opportunities when he wasn’t around devotees or family, I never approached him. Instead, I absorbed everything he had to say and waited for my chance.
The next day we followed his car to another hometown where he’d lived and gone to school as a young boy. We gathered in the home of an uncle to listen to Swami speak his consoling words late into the night. “There’s a divine plan behind everything, if we allow ourselves to be used by that unseen force. As good instruments many things can happen in a mysterious miraculous way. If we interfere with that plan by introducing our own plan, the egocentric plan, tension will be created, for in any event ultimately the divine plan will beam out.”
I listened intently from the doorway of the crowded room, hoping Grandma was paying attention, too. As far as I was concerned, she’d introduced her selfish plan into my life. And I now sought the Divine plan that would escort her out.
When he stood preparing to leave, my hands grew sweaty, my heart flapping like a hummingbird. I’d finally mustered the courage to approach him, but as he reached into his pocket and pulled out packets of gum, the children all squealed, glomming onto him like Double Bubble. I’d try again at the next occasion.
That night in a new place to lay my head, I wrote home and then I started a letter to my friend.
Dear River,
I really miss you so much. The travel by busreminds me so much of our time on the road. I wish you were in the seat next to me. . .
***
The next morning, Swami spoke at a college where hundreds of Tamil poetry students had gathered to listen. This time I remembered the little tape recorder I’d packed and turned iton. “Always try to serve like this. Don’t even call it helping, call it service. You are benefited by that. If a man begs from you and you give him something, you shouldn’t think you are helping him; instead, he is helping you.”
From there we traveled some more, passing a shrine of the elephant-headed aspect of God. All along our travels, pedestrians, monkeys, and brahma bulls crisscrossed the dusty roads. We also had the great fortune of visiting many holy places significant to his early life as well as ashrams so incredibly stunning. When I walked in they seemed to be filled with an intense vibration of deep peace. Everywhere, there were crowds, men and boys, beating drums in celebration of Swami Satchidinanda. Alice Coltrane eventually joined us on this leg of the trip, but I didn’t get to hang with her as she followed Swami pretty closely as part of his inner circle.
That night I sat down to add to my letter to River:
You would have loved today’s journey. We entered the inner sanctum of this Hindutemple surrounded by all these little altars. We walked aroundthem clockwise paying respect to the different aspects of theLord. I’m still confused about the differences between Hinduismand Buddhism. So far, I’ve learned that Buddhists don’t believe in a god and, apparently, Buddha is nota god. As opposed to Hindus who believe in many.
Besides journaling, I’m carrying this little tape recorder everywhereso I don’t miss anything. You’d really findwhat the Swami says so interesting. He says, “There arenot many gods. There is only one and that onehas no name, no form, and no place,” he said,and the next part is so cool. “He is everywhereand in actuality he is neither a ‘he’ nor a ‘she’ nor ‘it’ but such abstractions cannot be grasped byour limited minds.” So, in other words, limited minds can’t understand the breadth of gender. He said, “Only whenthe mind expands to a greater capacity, can we understandthe infinite things. That’s why according to ourcapacitythe infinite one reduces himself to a lower level.” Doesn’t it all sound really far out?
In New Delhi,we attended a conference where there were talks and seminarsfor several days.We traveled up to Masuri where wecould see across to the peak of the Himalayas deepin Tibet.
In the meanwhile, I’m learning so much. Swami says, “Everybody present on Earth has to realize hehas a hand someplace in making corrections. We can’tsave ourselves. We can’t save the world, it’salready decided.” My question, of course, is what about Grandma’s hand?
Tomorrow we head south. I’ll write againwhen I’m settled.
Love you to the Honey Moonand back!
Om shanti, shanti, shanti. Me
