In the Arms of the Master🔗

Intimate moments with the inner circle at Bidadi ashram

Here we are, caught in the telling of experiences too profound to tell, and too overwhelming to hold! We don't know what the following pages are – but of one thing we are certain: they are NOT an introduction to Swamiji.

For how can we hope to introduce him – the Formless in Form? Can we describe his eyes, his voice, his incomparable laughter? What phrase is rich enough to describe his Compassion, what book can contain the vast spaces of his Love! Which word dare we utter, to bring forth the Nithyananda that we have experienced!

These pages are no more than an offering of love: every smile, every wave of Love that we have devoured with our senses, imprinted in our memories – our gift to all who have experienced the pure joy of Swamiji's presence, but haven't had the chance to spend so many precious hours with him – yet.

There is no order to these scribblings – for where is order in one's relationship with the Master? We hope to reveal him to you, the way he chose to reveal himself to us – in bits and pieces, shades and hues, whirls and swirls of form and colour and emotion and insight!

These anecdotes are the experiences of all the ashramites. The 'I' in the stories could be any of us, all of us, each of us. It might be you, too – for these might very well be your experiences that haven't found their way into words..!

With the deepest devotion and gratitude to Swamiji, and heartfelt love to all,

Ashramites Dhyanapeetam

~ 21st September 2003 ~

Among the most beautiful moments I experienced at the ashram were the midnight meditation sessions with Swamiji.

A clutch of the earliest ashramites, we would gather in a circle beneath the starlit sky, or sometimes in the thatched hut (aptly named Laughing Temple) that was witness to our most joyous experiences and our richest moments with Swamiji. Made sacred by hours of meditation, and resonating with Swamiji's laughter even in his absences, this tiny rustic shelter was the de facto hub of the ashram.

Here we would sit cross-legged on straw mats, hands linked with Swamiji's in meditation, knowing even then that moments such as these were too precious to last. And here, as always, he would pour upon us his love, his joy, the boundless energy born of his years of tapas. Our senses sharpened by the inky darkness (that didn't allow us to see each other or Swamiji), we would feel each person's presence that much more intensely. And after the meditation (which often left us in an explosion of bliss, or sobbing with emotion), Swamiji would draw each of us close in an unforgettably beautiful embrace, or place his hands upon our heads and shower us with blessings.

As always, Swamiji gave us experiences, never words. Simply, without a word exchanged, he would bring us in direct touch with the joy of universal love, and the sure sense of oneness with All - all of which had only seemed hollow phrases till then!

~ 28th September 2003 ~

A late arrival for the one-year residential programme (which was to stretch into a lifetime for many of us!), I attached myself to Swamiji with a vengeance to make up for lost time.

Soon after I arrived in the ashram, the task of checking Swamiji's voluminous e-mail fell upon me. After returning from healing at the City Centre at 12 or 1 a.m., Swamiji would enthusiastically settle down to this midnight exercise. (Strangely, the internet was our sole contact with the world outside – no newspapers reached the ashram, not to speak of radio or TV! Even power supply was characteristically topsy-turvy – we could be certain of having power only between 11 p.m. and 5 a.m!)

While a brilliant moon outside played havoc on our senses, we would sit hunched up before the computer, sorting out fan-mail, official stuff and earnest messages from seekers of spiritual guidance – to each of which Swamiji insisted on replying personally.

At that time of night, his robe would be in a state of gentle disarray, his turban resting on the table beside him; he would be running his fingers absently through his curling locks. Looking up casually from an email, I would be suddenly shaken by the sense that beside me sat a beautiful, almost languorous woman, eyes aglow with joy and compassion at the outpourings of love in so many of the mails.

Then suddenly, catching my wondering look, he would crack a characteristically bawdy joke - and gaily shatter the vision.

O Nithya!

~ 25th October 2003 ~

Nothing escaped Swamiji's keen eye. Every morning he would do the rounds of the ashram, twirling his staff and checking on progress and maintenance, down to the smallest detail. Before my wondering eyes, he would command the brahmacharis (students), There is a broken bucket in the third toilet near the ashramites' dormitory. Replace it. He would enquire of the youngest brahmacharis, Have you washed your clothes today? Look at your hair! When did you last take a bath? Then he would tease them about personal hyegiene.

Much later, we found out that there were other reasons for Swamiji's daily barefoot walks. One rainy day, when we rushed to fetch him his sandals, he refused, saying: No slippers! When I walk barefoot, I am in communion with the earth. Also, walking barefoot is one way I energize the ashram. (then, with a disapproving look at our sandaled feet) You should all practise walking barefoot as much as possible. It is an excellent way to absorb the powerful earth energy!

~ 4th March 2004 ~

It was amusing for us to watch devotees stunned by Swamiji's unselfconscious simplicity.

No matter what the weather, Swamiji usually walked the half kilometer from his kuteer to Ananda Sabha (the healing and meditation hall). The people waiting for healing would watch in amazement as the ochre-robed form wove its way - sometimes alone! - through the green fields towards Ananda Sabha, with no motorcade or fanfare to announce his arrival.

He ate his meals in the common dining hall, seated on the floor and eating out of a steel dish like the rest of us.

At the washing area, it was common to find his ochre robes fluttering in the breeze alongside the white clothes of ashramites and patients. It always gave me a thrill to hang out our clothes right next to Swamiji's... to think that we should be moving so closely with the Divine!

~ 18th January 2004 ~

It took us too long to understand his Divinity, longer still to realize his Innocence. When he once gently reminded me that he was innocent of all I saw happening around him, I smiled wickedly at his leela, the Divine humour of the Master, the all-powerful, the all-knowing.

Then, one day, we were to witness something that would stun those first impressions into silent awareness. Going to seek his blessings on the night before his departure to the USA, a group of us ashramites quietly entered his room.

Swamiji lay on his bed, deep in sleep or meditation, we couldn't know which. When he noticed our presence, he motioned us out of the room with a gentle gesture of his hand. Still we lingered, bewildered. Was he ill? After the whirlwind activity surrounding his Jayanthi celebrations the previous fortnight, Swamiji's overwrought body had suffered from weakness and a persistent fever.

After a while, Swamiji spoke. Slowly, in a voice made still more eloquent by the silences in between. ‘Can you feel it..?’, he whispered. We nodded silently. Almost as soon as we had stepped into the room, we had been engulfed in wave upon wave of pulsing energy, that seemed to flow endlessly from the Master’s body. Even as we waited, it rose and fell, swirling around each of us, baffling all understanding.

What is it, Swami..?

Slowly he continued,. This body is being prepared for the explosion of energy that is to happen in the coming weeks... this energy has to touch thousands... It has happened early... I didn’t expect this till tomorrow... but Existence has willed it to happen now... I am sorry... stay a while and then leave... you will not be able to handle this energy... my love and blessings to you all...

He turned away from us, trembling from the sheer force of energy which was sweeping over him.

His words drove into us like the edge of a diamond. He spoke of his body simply, with humility – as if it were no longer his own, but merely an instrument of the Divine! Here was a man who had completely surrendered control over himself.

Until then, I had always thought of Enlightenment as something gained, a state of complete control and total power. It took only that moment to realize that Enlightenment is a losing, an unquestioning surrender, a dissolution into nothingness – a state of utter innocence and a childlike trust in Existence.

O Nithya!, we sobbed inwardly, How poor a tool this limited mind, to fathom your supreme Innocence!

~ 14th November 2003 ~

Swamiji happily flouted every rule that we’d set (in our minds) for an enlightened master. (How dared we, indeed, set rules for an enlightened one!) But still we watched, astonished, as he gleefully refused to be defined.

After spending time with us till the early hours of the morning, he would retire to bed and rise as late as 9 or 10 a.m. He would arrive for healing sessions notoriously late, unperturbed by the sight of the weary crowds waiting for healing and darshan in Ananda Sabha. (Only we knew that this was a ploy, to keep the ailing in his healing buddhafield for a longer time...)

On the rare days when he rose early, he would step out unwashed, fresh as a flower in his gently crumpled robes, and do the rounds of the dorm. He would knock noisily on the doors with his staff and generally put up a big drama about how lazy we were – how unfit to even aim at enlightenment! Then he would announce a special morning class in Laughing Temple. These were usually yelling sessions about jobs poorly done - what we ashramites jokingly referred to as Swamiji’s special pooja (worship) for us! But in between the scolding and the joking would jump out some of the most inspiring and touching words I’ve ever heard Swamiji speak.

One such day, he was full of mischief (so what was new?). Some of us had been putting questions on spirituality to him – and he had answered by asking us, as usual, to shut up and mind our tasks instead. He ruthlessly discouraged any claims we made to intellectual understanding of any kind. How long it took us to even glimpse the wisdom of his techniques!

Suddenly he asked me, laughing with helpless mirth at his own harsh treatment of us:

Ma, why don’t you write a book of mystical riddles, based on these Zen koans? Call it Ananda Zen!

See, it can go like this...

Vishwa: Swamiji, how many hours should I meditate every day to attain enlightenment?

Swamiji: Poda, arivuketta naaye! (Get out of my sight, you foolish dog!)

In that moment, Vishwa became enlightened! Ha ha! (uproarious laughter from all)

But Swamiji, first they must get enlightened, no? I ask, laughing. Otherwise the stories won't be true!

The laughter leaves his eyes; he is suddenly staring me intently, serious. I feel somewhat uncomfortable.

Why do you worry about that?

His words cut into me.

You just write – do you understand?

Do you understand?

Your (people's) getting enlightened is my responsibility.

I am here to see that it happens.

That is what I took this birth for!

Don't you know that?

(as we grasp the enormity of the Master's statement, a deep silence descends on Laughing Temple)

~ 30th November 2003 ~

Even his admonishing was an outpouring of compassion

One day, after one of us had goofed up as usual – I forget what the mistake was – Swamiji assumed a pose of utter exasperation and ultimate hopelessness about our ever making it. Stubbornly rejecting our apologies, he threatened to go without his meals that day (he knew just where to hit us to make it hurt!).

Being the only girl in the group, and older than most of the boys, I usually received decent treatment from Swamiji. After sending the boys away, he complained bitterly to me, saying that he didn’t know how he was saddled with the scum of the earth as disciples. How was he ever going to manage his mission? What sort of punishment was this? And so on and so forth.

Exasperated by his words, not realizing that all this drama was actually a test of my insight, I finally asked him why on earth he hadn’t chosen the right people in the first place.

In an instant, anger gave way to a glittering smile.

Because, ma, they have the only qualification I need from them: Love, tremendous love for me!

You will see, out of this very group the right people will emerge.

Unpolished diamonds, my boys are..!

These naïve boys you see today will be the gems who will carry my message to the world!

~ 25th October 2003 ~

Astonishingly, Swamiji himself came up with an Ashramites' Union of sorts - called SEM (Self-Expressive Movement)! He himself coined the name, and even a hilarious jig to go with it. According to him, SEM was a forum where ashramites could meet, conspire and organize rebellions against the master's cruel ways! The leader was to be Vishwa – our 'prime questioner'. Swamiji would chaff us mercilessly about the supposed activities of SEM, embarrassing us no end. To drive home the point, he would repeat the story of the Buddha and his disciples:

When the Buddha got enlightened, it caused great alarm in Hell. One more human being won over by Heaven! Not only that, this mortal looked like he had the capacity to convert hundreds of others onto his path.

But while the younger devils complained loudly about how no steps were being taken to curb the fatal spread of goodness, the older, wiser ones remained calm and silent.

Finally one of the young campaigners asked the wisest devil why nothing was being done about the Buddha's enlightenment.

Who said nothing is being done?, smiled the old devil. We have already sent down so many disciples for the Buddha. They will ensure that the Buddha’s teachings are thoroughly distorted before they reach the people. They will do our job for us!

After recounting this none-too-flattering tale, Swamiji would laugh long and loud, all the while shrewdly watching our faces for any telltale signs of anger or hurt. Like a bunch of scolded schoolkids, we would sit and glower at the floor, determined not to let him see how mad at him we were.

What could possibly be the purpose of such a drama?, we often wondered.

Then one day Swamiji gently clarified:

To forge a strong group consciousness, I need to create some common enemy!

Right now you are all going through a severely trying phase. Your egos are suffering blow after blow from all sides. You may not be able to handle all the negativity rising up inside and outside you.

When you target all your negative emotions against me, you don't throw it out on each other! That's why I take it on myself...

We could do nothing but listen in wonder.

O Nithya! What have we done to deserve your depthless Compassion!

~ 25th October 2003 ~

It was especially touching to watch Swamiji fumble for scientific proof during his discourses – knowing that the sheer enormity of his experience, the absolute authenticity and utter honesty of his words could never be fathomed by minds attuned to demanding scientific proof for everything they saw or heard.

I don’t know what I felt at those times! An overwhelming gratitude for his compassion. Reverence for his gentle wisdom. And a mother’s deep concern – as if watching her kindergarten child struggle through a recitation contest in public, badly wanting him to go through it without fumbling...knowing that the people out there are somehow sitting in judgment of him, knowing they’ll never truly understand his joy, his love, his utter innocence...

Later, when we heard that scientific research in the USA was proving so many of Swamiji’s statements, it was more a sense of relief that we felt. Relief that so many more hearts would now open to him; relief that humanity would finally understand the selfless compassion that drove him onward to heal a seriously ill world...

~ 18th April 2004 ~

To live around Swamiji was to get used to witnessing daily miracles.

Apart from the healing he gave patients at Ananda Sabha in the mornings and the City Centre in the evenings, Swamiji usually had to deal with casual complaints of all sorts from ashramites and devotees. Not just us, but the ailing tamarind tree in his private garden, the bamboo grove near the patients' quarters – even our sole struggling computer – his healing touch was placed equally upon all.

Old-timers tell of their first visit to the Bidadi ashram site, when the land had just been accepted from a devotee. The sight of the vast thorny wilderness was enough to dishearten practically everybody. The few plants that stood among the brambles were wilting away in the harsh sun. The tamarind tree in a corner of the site was reduced to a brown skeleton, its few remaining leaves eaten away by disease. Fringing the border of the site was a dying clump of bamboo.

No one saw Swamiji’s eye fall upon them with silent compassion.

Within a month after Swamiji moved to the ashram, the tamarind tree began to sprout fresh leaves. When I first saw it four months later, it was already a vibrant, leafy tree, just coming into fruit. Who would have believed it! The powerful energies released in Swamiji’s buddhafield allowed nothing to waste away. Magically, as if in response to his very presence, the bamboo grove too came to life overnight. You should see it now! - a riot of yellow and green, a hundred flutes dancing to Swamiji’s joyous song! And most heartening of all, the Healing Sticks (energized lengths of bamboo) that Swamiji grants devotees when he initiates them into Ananda Healing, now come from that very bamboo grove!

Our sole ashram computer was just as idiosyncratic as the rest of us. A Celeron machine, decadent even by own (very lax) standards, it especially hated being woken up at midnight – Swamiji’s preferred time for checking email. The computer’s regular mode of protest would be to refuse to connect to the internet (we had a paleolithic dial-up connection). With Swamiji sitting impatiently beside me, I would be furiously pounding the keys, foolishly trying and retrying – with no results.

What is it - hmmm?

Swamiji would raise his eyes from the book or letter he was busy with. His voice, splendidly weary, would speak volumes about my incompetence.

Just a minute Swami... I’m trying...it was working just this evening...

I would break out in a cold sweat. I dared not tell him that the computer wasn’t cooperating – again. He didn’t believe in the words, It’s not my fault or I don’t know.

Finally, after twenty minutes of pathetic effort, I would turn to him.

No choice.

Swami... can you heal it... please...?

Chuckling in amusement at my failed efforts, Swamiji would bring his palms together in a resounding clap, and force the energy towards the computer.

And instantly, like clockwork, the numbers on the monitor would start moving again! This I have witnessed myself, numberless times... And why not, indeed? Cannot the power that moves the sun and the stars coax a mere computer into life?

~ 6th December 2003 ~

What language did he speak? I don't know, but there was none who didn't understand.

In the early days, practically all the devotees spoke Tamil, so Swamiji would usually conduct his talks in Tamil. The only person who didn't understand the language was Keerti, a gentle Marwari lady – a staunch devotee who attended the talks every single day, nevertheless. Swamiji always had an especially kind smile for her.

During the talk one day, Swamiji made one of his hilarious observations which had us all in splits. Spotting Keerti joining in the laughter, we asked her teasingly what she could possibly be laughing for. To our astonishment, she gave us a clear English translation of the joke that Swamiji had just made in colloquial Tamil!

How did you figure that out?, we asked, stunned.

I don't know! It just came to me - is it correct?, she asked, no less surprised herself!

We were to witness this strange thing several times with her. She would give us the meanings of discourses - even Tamil poems! – with near-perfect accuracy. And the funniest thing was, if one of us gave her even a simple sentence to translate, she would end up shaking her head helplessly!

What was at work here?

Baffled, we took the issue to Swamiji.

This doesn't happen just to Keerti Ma. It is true for every single one of you!, he smiled. When I speak to you, I don't communicate in words. It is a communion, a transfer of energy from Being to Being.

I use words simply to keep your mind engaged, intellectually satisfied. At that time, when you are no longer resisting me, my energy is free to enter and transform you! But because you also understand the language (Tamil), you don't realize that what you're absorbing is at a far deeper level. You think that it's the words you've understood! If your awareness is 100%, if your devotion is total, you would understand me even if I spoke in Spanish! That kind of awareness is difficult to maintain. But Keerti Ma manages to achieve it occasionally. That's when she performs all those translation miracles!

Of course, what he said about not understanding through words was devastatingly true for most of us. It is a fact that the more you'd enjoyed a talk by Swamiji, the less likely you were to remember a single word of it! You would somehow have a complete sense of it, but if someone were to ask you for specific information, you were sure to find yourself struggling for words! At first, each of us kept this 'shameful' fact to ourselves – angry with ourselves for not paying more attention to Swamiji's words. It took that explanation from Swamiji to bring out the confessions – and to forgive ourselves!

~ 7th December 2003 ~

It hadn't occurred to us that for Swamiji, this transfer of energy was equally possible with any living thing - anything in the Cosmos, one could say. It simply wasn't a concept that you could grasp with your mind. And Swamiji spoke nothing about it. He was especially averse to a display of power for purposes other than healing. I'm not running a magic show here, he would reply curtly if we ever hinted at it.

But one day, in his deliciously wicked way, he caught me unawares. Emerging from his kuteer one morning and catching me dreaming in the sun, he smiled broadly and asked - out of the blue - What ma, what is all this you've been saying to the tamarind tree today? Then he proceeded to give me an exact description of my pell-mell thoughts when I had sat under the tamarind tree earlier that morning!

Oh my God! How did you know, Swami..? I was incredulous. The tree told me, of course. How else would I know? He tried to keep it as simple and non-scary as possible. You mean, in words, Swami? No, ma! In .. hmmm... pictures. Something like pictures... He must've felt like someone trying to explain the Theory of Relativity to a pre-schooler!

I had the sense not to pursue the matter, and watched in wonder as the Master walked away, chuckling merrily at his little revelation!

~ 12th March 2004 ~

In Swamiji's benign presence it was easy to be playful as a child, joyous - sometimes even careless. He took such good care of us that we sometimes forgot our reciprocal responsibilities.

Every day, devotees would bring baskets of fruit to the ashram for Swamiji. Except for the occasional glass of juice for breakfast, Swamiji rarely consumed fruit. Busy (and heedless) as we were, none of us ever enquired as to what was happening to the fruit that piled up in the kitchen.

One day, it came to Swamiji’s notice that large quantities of fruit were going waste, for lack of any initiative to chop and distribute them.

Without a word as to why he was summoning us, Swamiji called a meeting in Laughing Temple late that night. That night we were to witness one of his rare outbursts of kopa (Divine rage).

All of us were seated silently at his feet, afraid to meet his eyes. Somehow, we knew that something was terribly wrong. Do you know what this is?, Swamiji asked suddenly, pointing at the thatched roof of Laughing Temple. We kept silent, bewildered by the question.

Are you thinking, It’s a thatched roof? It is not! It is my tapas (penance). Every straw in this thatch is a fibre of my tapas! Every structure here carries the imprint of my years of struggle. Every meal you eat here is a meal I have gone without! Every night you spend comfortably in your rooms is a night I have spent shelterless, in cold and rain, during my years of struggle!

It is my tapas that brought enlightenment.

It is my tapas that has built this ashram.

And it is my tapas that people are saluting when they pour their love and money into this place.

Do you think that the public has nothing else to do with their hard-earned money? Why should they choose to offer it here? They are saluting the enlightenment that resulted from my tapas. They are paying their gratitude for the healing powers that blossomed with enlightenment. Even the humblest offering is a tribute to my struggle, to my tapas. When even a morsel of food is wasted here, it is not only the devotion of the people that you are disregarding.

You are showing direct disrespect to my tapas.

Be very clear..!

Never before had we heard Swamiji speak about his years of relentless tapas. Never had he demanded any acknowledgement of his struggle.

O Nithya! Your Compassion had blinded us to our duties to the world! How unfit we are to live up to your Vision!

~ 15th May 2004 ~

Who could resist his radiant warmth? Swamiji drew children and animals to him like a magnet. To us, it was no surprise to watch him walk around the campus with a little girl in pigtails swinging on his arm. They especially enjoyed sharing with him all the little-big details of their lives – which he listened to with complete attention and patience.

He had the marvelous capacity to turn into a child with children, a woman with women, a naughty young boy with naughty youngsters. He entered into each role so totally that no one would suspect that he was anything other than what he was revealing himself to be at that moment. A very dangerous thing, that. In his charming way, he would coax risqué jokes out of middle-aged women – and then tease them nonstop about their lax morals! When he chose to, he could drive anybody to exasperation. But still, he couldn’t put us off him...

And the animals! The two much-loved nameless ducks on the campus always behaved as if he was their personal property.

They would waddle behind him all the way from his kuteer to Laughing Temple, quacking officiously. I wonder what he spoke to them in return!

The canine couple that had made us their adoptive family usually preferred to sleep on his seat in Laughing Temple, their muddy paws resting on his satin bolster! Then there was a honey-coloured puppy, the sole survivor of a litter, that became simply too attached to Swamiji. It was suffering from a skin allergy of some sort, and Swamiji would give it healing once in a way. In the way of all babies, it achieved an intimacy with Swamiji that we longed to have! - climbing into his lap and 'helping him' read his email, or curling up in the sun with its head resting against him.

One pet that Swamiji himself still recalls was a baby squirrel, badly bruised from a fight, that made its way into Laughing Temple from god knows where. In Swamiji’s gentle care the squirrel healed rapidly, but it stayed for days, playing hide-and-seek with itself in the thatch of Laughing Temple (sometimes plopping down on Swamiji in the middle of a serious discourse!) We were to see another miracle in those days – in

Swamiji's presence, the puppy and the squirrel gradually gave up their natural hostility and became good friends. (Both puppy and baby squirrel have been since immortalized in 'The Many Moods of Swamiji'!)

Swamji's stone seat in Laughing Temple was home to an astonishing variety of insects. Between the seat and the large cushion laid on it, one could practically witness the evolution of species! Brilliant lizards and chameleons, rows of ants of every size and colour, interesting spiders – they all seemed to live in perfect harmony in that sacred space. No amount of dusting and cleaning could make the creatures vacate.

One day we warned Swamiji about the teeming planet under his cushion.

Under my cushion? Really?! We have to be careful! He sounded very concerned.

Yes, Swamiji. One never knows, they may be poisonous...

Oh, don't worry about THAT!, he waved us away impatiently. I was thinking, I keep shifting around on the seat...have I been hurting them? We must find a solution for this... I had no idea..!

With Swamiji, we should have known..!

~ 5th June 2004 ~

There was no end to the weird things that kept happening around Swamiji. Even the most casual incidents would take on the awesome significance of divine revelations.

One morning, Swamiji emerged from his kuteer all puffy-eyed and red-skinned. He seemed to have broken out in a rash of sorts. The funny thing was, he didn’t have the least idea what it was, or what might have caused it. He just kept saying that his skin itched and the rashes hurt terribly.

We were on the edge of panic, when someone suggested we check his room for any insects. We checked – and found that the space under his bed was simply crawling with red ants! Where they came from or why, we didn’t have a clue.

When we told Swamiji about it, he just sat silently for a while, shaking his head in amused disbelief. Then he revealed,

Now that you mention it, I remember this happening last night! When I left the body and was in my Consciousness, I distinctly remember seeing these ants crawling all over my body. But at that time, being myself in a boundariless state, I couldn’t perceive any difference between them and me. It’s very difficult to explain... actually, I couldn’t realize where I ended and the ants began! We were all just one Energy... And of course, I felt no pain. So naturally, I felt no need to shake them off! It’s only after I returned to the body this morning that I slowly started experiencing these sensations of pain... but by then, the ants had disappeared from my bed, and I couldn’t remember what had happened!

And we thought all we had witnessed that morning was a common rash..?!

~ 18th December 2003 ~

Swamiji could put any eight-year-old to shame, at playing truant from meals. The only difference was that an eight-year-old could be spanked into obedience! The truth was, he rarely remembered whether he’d eaten or not. He truly didn’t feel the need; it was just a chore he had to perform for the sake of his body.

At six in the evening, in the middle of some really interesting talk, he would suddenly turn to Amma and ask, Amma - have I eaten anything today? Amma would simply scowl at him angrily, and turn away. She'd already have begged him about six times that day to eat something. Then Swamiji would put on his sweetest accent and plead, Okay, I'm sorry! Won't you bring me something to eat? I'm really hungry now... That was enough to melt Amma's heart!

On the rare days when he ate with relish, it was usually in the homely ashram kitchen. Behind the closed doors of the kitchen, out of sight of the eyes of casual visitors, Swamiji would happily sit cross-legged on the kitchen platform and munch crisp dosas straight off the stove. The Ladies of the Kitchen would bustle about, serving him, watching over him – glad to have him all to themselves for a while. And he, in turn, would accept their loving offerings with all the enthusiasm of a schoolboy.

Those were really special mornings!

~ 10th June 2004 ~

Swamiji just loved creating chaos in our lives. As if the conditions we were operating under weren’t chaotic enough already, he would dream up creative ways to drive us crazy.

He usually returned from the city center only after midnight, sometimes even close to one a.m.

Where are those fools?!, he would roar in mock rage, if any of us was not present to receive him. (Nobody dared remind him that people are usually asleep at one o’clock in the night!) Then he would hold a group session which would go on till 2 or 3 a.m.

It was his special custom to start us on six different tasks that were all top priority, and then ask us innocently why each one wasn’t complete, each time completely ignoring any mention of other tasks! In other words, he behaved just like a bully boss in a big corporate – the kind we thought we’d escaped from when we came to the ashram.

One night he summoned us to the office and asked for all the photographs of the public programmes he’d held that year. We brought in a staggering pile of albums, neatly organized and labeled. Organizing the photographs had taken us more than two weeks of collective effort.

Swamiji asked for a mat to be laid on the floor. Then, before our horrified eyes, he started rapidly removing photographs at random from the albums and throwing them down in an untidy pile on the floor! When he had removed more than a hundred photographs, he selected a few from the pile and then told us casually, Here, put the rest back where they belong – quickly!

We were ready to cry from sheer exasperation. The way the pictures had been jumbled, there was simply no way we could sort them! Everywhere the same thronging masses, the same stage decorations, the same ceremonies! Many of the pictures were close-ups of Swamiji, and those were the worst. Everywhere he wore the same ochre robe, the same garlands, sat upon the same white cushioned seat. How were we to tell which event was which?

That night Swamiji returned to the office at 1 a.m., and found us still bent over the pictures in sleepy confusion.

Then he picked up the photos and patiently started to show us:

See the largest garland I'm wearing in this picture? There are more red roses in this garland than pink ones. Can you see? This garland was the one I wore in Salem - didn't you notice at the programme? That means all the photos where I'm wearing this garland are from the Salem programme.

Another picture: See this clock here in the background? It shows two-thirty. The only places I held afternoon programmes were Mumbai and Coimbatore. And only in Mumbai were the lights switched on in the hall – don't you remember? Here, can you see a reflection of the lights in my eye? That means this is Mumbai. Simple! Now sort out the rest.

This was detective work!, we groaned in despair.

But still we worked, pushing our powers of observation to the maximum, calling up every memory of the actual events, scrutinizing each picture with an altogether new awareness. We noticed, in wonder, how much we'd missed in each picture. Now it was like seeing them for the first time, with fresh eyes, with total mindfulness. It took us till morning to realize that Swamiji's 'careless' behaviour the previous evening had been an expert device to lead us into intense meditation, only minus the name!

~ 17th April 2004 ~

Hour by painstaking hour, Swamiji cleared our clouded vision. He chipped away at our rusty minds, broke us through into new layers of awareness. He plucked out by the roots, the comfortable habits built up over a lifetime. I am here to break your heads!, he would laugh. I have to destroy your thinking, your planning, most of all your habits – because that is where the ego lives. With schoolboy glee, he would repeat time and again: H-A-B-I-T is like this! If you remove H, still A BIT is left, If you remove A also, BIT is still left, If you remove B also, still IT is left.

It is only when you remove the ‘I’, the ego, that you can destroy HABIT!

He spared nothing that might bind us without our knowledge. In his infinite compassion, he showed us no shallow pity. Like a master trainer, he threw us upon the utter insecurity of life.

Money, social status, family ties, jobs, the million pulls of daily living – these we had already given up gladly when we sought refuge at his feet. From the day we entered his care, he worked on us relentlessly – hunting down the ego in its still more secret recesses, hidden so deep in our unconscious that we didn't even know it lived and fed on us...

Personal belongings were the first to go. Other than a toothbrush and a couple of sets of clothes, we owned nothing. We needed to own nothing, for everything was provided in reasonable abundance. Food was nutritious, delicious and plentiful. Fruits or sweets sent by devotees were shared equally among all ashramites. One day, when a new ashramite was found to be hoarding pickles from home, Swamiji silently emptied the contents of the bottle on the kitchen doorstep. That was the last time anyone attempted that kind of thing!

The next victims were space and time. ‘Private’ space, of course, we didn’t get – or want. Night after night, we slept in any room that was available, often in the dining hall or office if there were too many patients or guests. Nobody minded because it was just so much fun. Handling Swamiji’s upside-down time schedules was tougher! By and by, we got used to working, eating and sleeping at the oddest hours without a sense of disorientation. On many days, he deliberately made us go without our meals. Though the funny thing was, doing this actually hurt him more than it hurt us! The youngest ashramites were barely fifteen, and we knew Swamiji hated being harsh on them. To make up, on his trips to various places, he would unfailingly bring back sweets and other offerings made by devotees, saying, The children will be waiting to see what I’ve brought them! No father could have been more thoughtful!

Finally – identity itself! We knew it had to go, but it was terrible.

In bits and pieces we were losing it, sometimes striking out blindly against Swamiji’s ‘cruel’ ways, sometimes bowing gracefully to his superior wisdom (but more often the former!)

He would ask us sweetly which jobs we loved doing and which we didn’t - and then gaily allot us the ones we hated or feared most. If you hated speaking in public, you could be sure of being put in training to take the Ananda Yoga classes! If you loved working in the garden, it was the computer for you.

So many times he was to remind us,

I don’t give you freedom of the senses. I give you freedom from the senses!

Continuously learning, unlearning and relearning, doing and non-doing, someday we hope to slip into what Swamiji calls the ideal state -

Be like water!

Be soft, liquid, receptive.

Flow without resistance.

Adapt unconditionally.

Become a wellspring of love, of delight, of Ananda!

~ 5th July 2004 ~

On special occasions, or on the evenings when he didn’t need to go to the city center, Swamiji performed the evening aarati himself. Those were the moments when time stood still at the ashram.

In the soft stillness of early twilight, in the rustic space of Anand Sabha, rows of brass lamps would be lit and waiting for Swamiji’s touch. The air would be heavy with jasmine and incense. Ashramites in white would patter about on silent feet, whispering instructions to each other. The elaborate pooja arrangements would be ready...

A swirl of saffron at the door, and Swamiji would be with us in the darkened hall.

The air would resonate with his chanting of Brahmanandam... Then the conch would be blown, the aarati music would strike up, and Swamiji would take up the first lamp – to begin the enchanting dance of lights.

Lamp after lamp would swing in graceful arcs before the idol of Nataraja (the Dancing Shiva), oblation after oblation would be offered to the Divine by Swamiji’s own hand, in beautiful harmony with the splendid rhythm of the aarati. Like luminous flowers in the breeze, they would sway gracefully in his hands – giant chandelier lamps that the rest of us could barely lift. How did he manage it? Like everything else he did, we guessed.

Outside, night would be falling rapidly. Inside, Swamiji’s robes would take on the awesome shades of fire. Uncannily like a flame, his tall lithe figure would sway and dance with the graceful motions of the aarati. How much like a mystery - now in light, now in shadow!

And something would stir inside us too, at these solemn moments. Bodies swaying to the resonant notes of the aarati, thought and breath would fall still for a moment, as we entered spontaneously into prayer. Somewhere a pair of eyes would be glistening with tears, somewhere a muffled sob would rise.

At the end of half an hour, the aarati would reach its crescendo, and culminate in a triumphant burst of song.

Then - silence.

Lit with Swamiji's radiant light, we would stand in deep inner joy, still and luminous like so many devotional lamps. Our hearts would be brimming over...

Now our turn has come to worship... We have come to worship you, O Nithya – with ourselves!

~ 24th April 2004 ~

Was there anything Swamiji didn't delight in? He plunged into Life with the buoyant joy of a child.

There was nothing that was too trivial to merit his eager attention. The blooming of the golden marigolds outside Laughing Temple, the arrival of a cute pair of geese on campus (an offering from a devotee), the first rain of the year... he reveled in the little-big delights of daily living.

No one who hasn’t seen Swamiji at play can understand the infectious joy of his presence. (And I don’t mean his leela, for who can presume to understand his Divine play?) We were lucky to capture him in his most riotous moods. One Diwali (The Festival of Lights) day, soon after sunset, I was surprised (and perturbed) to see devotees arriving in the ashram with loads of firecrackers. That was my first Diwali with Swamiji, and I had no idea what was going on. Noisy celebrations in the ashram? What will Swamiji say? Unnecessary worry, that. When the time came to burst the crackers, I found that it was Swamiji who led the group of animated youngsters! The whole bash had been his idea, I discovered later. Whooping and dancing with the bravest of them, he sent rocket after rocket into the sky, vied with the boys in holding lighted pinwheels in his hand, bullied the shy and the elderly into joining in, and generally had a rollicking time. Suddenly, before our eyes, he was transformed into a child. He was certainly the brightest light I saw that Diwali!

~ 23rd March 2004 ~

What can we call it but Divine humour, that the Formless should so revel in the beauty of Form?

At his very first photosession, Swamiji quickly struck up a love-affair with the camera. He would pose uncomplainingly for hours, sweetly following the photographer's requests to turn-left-turn-right. Swamiji was astonishingly photogenic - I guess it was his complete un-selfconsciousness, the ease before the camera that we see so rarely in adults - that made such a difference.

And when the photos came, he would lock himself up in his room to delight over them in private! Who could presume to understand his whimsical ways?!

It was his own idea to create a new kind of robe for himself, to wear on special occasions.

He had taken a fancy to the elegant gold-bordered sarees of Kerala, and happened to mention it to someone. The news spread rapidly, thanks to the highly active ladies' grapevine – and soon Swamiji was swamped with Kerala sarees from his closest devotees. These he personally dyed ochre, and even devised an exquisite style of draping them. We would wait for him to emerge from his kuteer on festive occasions, just to catch a glimpse of his regal figure in that splendid robe. No woman could have done such justice to that delightful garment, the saree!

He was candid about his fondness for 'jewellery' – if one could call it that. The truth is, he cared for nothing but rudraaksh malas (rosaries), but of these had a sizeable collection, of all possible sizes and 'faces'. He would source them from as far away as Tibet, and show them off to us as if they were pure gold! They were, too – in terms of their therapeutic value.

Like a child totaling up his daily booty of marbles, he would sit for hours counting, sorting and stringing the sacred beads.

Such, indeed, are the amusements of the gods!

~ 19th June 2004 ~

Yet time and again he warned us,

Don't get caught in my form! This form you see does not exist. When you lose sense of your own boundary, you will lose sense of mine. Then you will see me as I really am - as pure energy - as Nothing!

But how could we believe him? Mesmerized as we were, by the enchanting play of his form! The crinkly-eyed smile, the sudden laughter, the joyous abandon of dance, the childlike charm – could we hand over these incomparable treasures to that wily witch, Maya? Like children, we guarded jealously the delightful trinkets of his form in our hearts, even knowing every moment that they were false gems.

One day, in a moment of rare intimacy, I told him playfully,

You know Swami, you're behaving just like a five-year- old!

I am five years old, ma!, he told me in dead seriousness. I laughed, watching him. Who was he, this boy-god who was watching me intently, challenging me to ask that very question?

He might have been eight or eighty, man or woman... I simply could not fathom him!

Who – are you?, I faltered, gazing at him.

I should have known better than to ask – for Swamiji was in a mood to reveal himself.

Even as his eyes looked into mine, without moving a muscle, his face took on a terrible grandeur – unknown, unknowable! In that moment, in the dark depths of his eyes, I seemed to sense towering mountains, roaring seas, whirling galaxies – I know not what!!

I saw nothing, but I saw them all.

Suddenly I was seized with raw fear. Oh please, don’t show me! I don’t want to see, I don’t want to see!, I wailed pathetically, covering my eyes in fright. It’s okay, ma. I’m normal now… see, I’m normal now!, he reassured me. It was a few minutes before I gathered the courage to look into his face again. A mischievous boy with dancing eyes was smiling at me once more. But dared I trust that smile anymore? Why did you ask?, he teased me gently. I was still shaking. What was it, Swami? See ma, to move about in the world, I need to make use of a thin layer of ego. When you asked me, I just dropped that ego for a moment, that’s all. In the moment when you sensed my boundarilessness, you sensed your own also. That’s why your ego felt so much fear. If you had waited just a moment, I would have revealed my vishwaroopam (cosmic form) to you. But silly girl, you had no courage! At that moment, I had no wish to possess that sort of courage! – for who knows where it might have led me?

Every moment on the brink of a revelation What is this life we live with you, O Nithya!

~ 17th January 2004 ~

On the morning of his 27ᵗʰ birthday (Jayanthi), he summoned all the ashramites into his kuteer. Some of us had never been in there before, and we didn't know how to respond to the honour. Selfconsciously proud, like schoolchildren summoned to the principal's office for a trophy, we filed in quietly (and excitedly!) Swamiji was seated on his bed, looking breathtaking in the elegant robe that he wore with such simple dignity.

When he spoke, his voice was a flood of love, of compassion. I wanted to meet you first, before I met the rest of the world. I wanted to thank you all...

We were astonished. What was Swamiji saying? He, who had given us everything...!

Swamiji continued: You are the people who have given your lives for me, for my mission! Without you, where would I be? Where would this mission be?

Where, indeed! As if Swamiji needed the paltry services of us mortals to direct his all-encompassing mission! We knew only too well that none of this was true – except his overwhelming compassion, that flowed towards us as love and gratitude.

One by one, Swamiji drew us close and gave us his blessings. To each, he whispered, Come, my beloved one... thank you...my love and blessings...

He placed a sacred rudraaksh mala around each of our necks.

That day, Swamiji's blessing was a downpour of Love – calling up an answering flood in our hearts. The moment his touch fell upon us, we burst into sobs without knowing why.

How could we bear the force of his divine Love?!

There was not a person in the room who wasn't crying. Then, looking up at his face, we were shaken to see – the Master’s own eyes were glistening with tears! What could we say?

How much love you carry for us, O Nithya – and how foolish we are, that we don't know even how to receive! Have we forgotten the Divine so completely, that we cannot even recognize the depth of your Love? What a flood of compassion struggles in your heart – how will you not give, even though we are so undeserving! Like the ripe fruit, like the raincloud that cannot bear its own burden, you continue to shower upon us, unaware as we are!