Tularam
Many persons have felt that Babaji's methods of making and remaking the
lives of his devotees were often very hard and sometimes appeared to
lack mercy. This, of course, was not true. The whole basis of his work
was nothing but mercy—kripa for the helpless and forsaken
one. He knows
where, when, and how much mercy is to be used in the job. A murti may
be made from clay, wood or stone. The work of the clay modeler is done
with soft and delicate touches of his hand. When it comes to the
sculptor working with stone, he has to take up the chisel and hammer.
They are both merciful in their jobs, but the mercy has to work in
different ways. Babaji knew this very well; we can see it in his work
at different places and with different materials.
Emptying and
cleaning are considered essential in the making of a vessel suitable
for holding sacred water. The processes differ from one another
according to the state of the vessel. One might be comparatively clean
and soft and simple methods will be enough. Hard treatment is necessary
when the vessel has been used for well or pond water and sediments had
been deposited; impurities had turned into crusts and clots. The
impurities have to be taken out to make the vessel worthy of the sacred
water. The task is not simple. Babaji knew it and did it with full
consciousness. The cost for the unavoidable surgical operation had to
be paid in pain.
In Babaji's method of dealing with us, there is
no partiality or favoritism for anyone. The beads in the rosary differ
from one another in their size, shape, and color, but the same unseen
string passes through them all. Can we accuse the string of partiality
because one bead has come first, another in the middle, and a third one
in the end?
We have mentioned before that whatever claim we
might make of having known Baba through our personal experience does
not come to much. In spite of my close association with Babaji, my
personal experience counts for little. I have acquired my devotion for
Baba and whatever understanding of him I might have from the gifts of
the open hearts of his old and selfless devotees.
After shifting
to the new house in 1958, many of these devotees started visiting him
here during what became known as Baba's "winter camp." Large numbers of
devotees began spending their time with him. The house became a hive
with bees swarming around him. This was actually Baba's precious gift
to his devotees. There had not been any place where he would stay long
enough to enable them to have his darshan. There was not Kaichi or
Vrindavan at that time to provide that opportunity. The devotees were
new to us, but they were well known to each other and close to Baba.
They constituted the first batch of the accredited ones, well known for
their devotion and dedication to their master, soaked and saturated in
their love of Baba—from whom I had my first lessons and from
whom I
gathered my love and devotion for Baba. There was no question of their
being closed or miserly with you, and I took the full advantage of
their generosity and open-heartedness.
Bhai (Brother)
Tularam and Jivan both came from Nainital and were originally opposed
to any association with Babaji, who had been visiting Nainital for many
years and was very popular with most of the residents there. Many of
their relations did their utmost to take them to Baba and failed. They
stayed away from him until the final moment when their conversions
came. They were both fortunate to be chosen as Babaji's travel
companions, although separately, for journeys to different places.
Babaji had been a traveler all through his life and even the ashrams
built in the later days could not hold him. He accepted what had been
said about the life of a saint. It is all a journey—a journey
of the
alone to the alone.
Tularam's conversion came in the last few
years of his life, but the whole of that time was spent traveling with
Babaji. This was a rare privilege not given to anyone else. Actually,
Babaji had no travel companion as such. Sometimes he would pick up
someone from the roadside inn, as it were, travel with him for some
distance and drop him at the next inn. This was his practice, and
anyone who was chosen just once felt happy; others envied his luck. So
we can imagine the fortunes of Tularam when he served for so many years
as Babaji's travel companion across the whole length and breadth of the
country.
He visited all the centers of pilgrimage, the temples
and monasteries, and met the sadhus residing there. A task which a
pilgrim cannot accomplish during his whole life was done by Tularam in
a short time at the end of his life. When we talked—and we
talked in
plenty, undeterred by anything—he would not talk about the
temples or
the places, but only about his life with Baba. He had gathered much and
had filled up his heart to the full. Rather it was over-full. Taking me
to be a near one, he was ready to give me the taste of what he was
carrying, emphasising all the time that these are the real things and I
must taste them fully. I did this whenever we were together. When we
parted for good, he left my luggage full, assuring me that when alone
or lonely I could take something out of my bag and relish it. This I do
even now. It is all fresh for me.
When Tularam joined the
ranks of Babaji's disciples, he had already lived through the first two
stages of life, student and householder, and technically he was
qualified for the third stage, life in the forest, which nobody follows
now. One day when someone asked about his family, Tularam said that he
had left them behind—the time for that was over when Babaji
had come to
take him on his travels.
After finishing his education, Tularam
began his career as a lawyer. Living the family life with a handsome
income, he augmented it by starting a business. When the business was
established and the income stabilized, he stopped his legal practice
and began enjoying life and living more liberally. He belonged to a
well-known family with many friends and relations over the entire
region. His son attended to the business, leaving him free; with an
assured income, he had not much to worry about. That was the story of
his life as he learned it from him, but according to his friends, his
coming to Babaji was overdue and was delayed only because he was
short-sighted and unreasonable. However, Tularam believed that he did
not come to Babaji early in life or through pressure from others
because the time was not ripe for him, and I think he was right. Siddhi
Didi, his wife, had been with Babaji for a long time and was recognized
as one of the topmost of Baba's devotees, so there was no difficulty in
him taking his place among the devotees. The delay was because the
choice of time was not in his hands.
Tularam and I had come
to know about each other after Babaji started coming to our first
house, but we met only in the winter of 1959, after we had settled
fully in Babaji's new house. Tularam, with Siddhi and others, came in
the last month of '59. It was the time of the Ardha (six year) Kumbha
mela. Tularam's family was living in a separate house, but both he and
Siddhi and the others would say to Baba that he (Baba) could send
Siddhi and the others away but he would stay. However, both he and
Siddhi continued staying with him. Many other devotees had come to
stay, each one happy to be with Baba in the company of his long-time
devotees. The whole period of his stay came to be one of continuous
celebration, the likes of which we had never seen or participated in
before. This was the first winter camp that continued annually,
uninterrupted, until 1972.
Besides the time spent with Babaji,
we had also enough time to be with each other. Our most enjoyable
meeting was at night, and it came to be like a ritual for us. After
everybody had finished with work and Babaji was resting in his room, we
had our best time in satsang, sharing the most blissful events in our
lives with each other, freely telling and retelling our day's
experiences. What we had collected indiviually had already been tested
and sifted in small groups, so it could be served with confidence.
Everyone was keen to see that nothing spurious or counterfeit was
allowed to pass in the name of Baba. The light of experience that
others earned enriched our own experience.
These nightly
meetings came to be very significant for us. They were workshops for
learning how to enjoy life in the company of others drawn from far and
near, knit all together into a happy family. These were the proudest
moments in our lives. We were all included in Babaji's family and were
entitled to have our share in everything. Everyone became each other's
own dear ones, together only to help each other enjoy their share. It
had previously been the lot of all to experience the suffering of
typical petty family life, full of fear and jealousy; now it was
amazing and unbelievable that the family life could be so very happy
and blissful. The great lesson we learned was that happiness would come
only if we learned not to shut anyone out as a stranger, or deny anyone
his share and place in the family. Happiness comes through the path of
oneness—oneness with whomever you are brought in contact.
From whom can
there be fear, for whom can there be jealousy and hatred when there is
only the One with you and none else? All are in the One.
This
was, no doubt, a precious lesson—the crest jewel of a happy
family
life, but few of us could learn it completely. It was all right for the
time we were with him, remembered and practiced in his presence, but
when he went away from us we left it behind. When he was not there, why
should one bind oneself? This precious lesson Babaji forgot to give us.
We were wise enough to learn it later.
Sometimes during our
nightly satsang, Babaji used to visit us in our room, where we were
busy with our talk. One night, more than an hour had passed and we were
still talking when Babaji entered the hall, sat down on Shukla's bed
and began counting the layers of bedding. Babaji said, "You are
enjoying much luxury here."
Everyone laughed at the joke, but
Shukla was much moved and said with tears in his eyes, "This is my
Didi's house, so I have got them."
Babaji said, "Your Didi is
good, but she is generous to you and gives you five layers for your
bed, but only three layers for mine." Our satsang was punctuated with
many such visits and inimitable comments. Everybody would say after
such an experience that this really was our Babaji, the one whom we all
seek.
Days passed in quiet succession. All we wanted was that
the ecstasy and excitement in which we were spending our days should
not halt. But one night, after Babaji had gone to bed, the devotees
finished their meals and assembled in the hall as usual. After some
time, we noticed that there was no light in Babaji's room. Taking him
to be asleep and thinking we would have no visit from him that night,
we all took to our beds. Before twelve, everyone was asleep and all the
lights were switched off.
We were all in deep sleep when we
heard Tularam shouting, "Dada, Babaji has gone away. He is not here in
the house." Tularam caught me by the hand and started running for the
gate. Siddhi was already there waiting for us. We had not even taken
our slippers when we started running on the road. We came across a
rickshaw by the roadside, but the rickshaw-puller was asleep on it.
Tularam actually pulled him down. We took our seats and Siddhi jumped
on the footboard and asked the rickshaw-puller to drive fast. He was
not fully awake, and that there was no accident was only because there
was no traffic on the road.
When we arrived at the railroad
station, we saw Babaji sitting alone on a bench. The two devotees who
had come with him had been sent for their tea, so Babaji was alone when
we came before him. We were agitated and could not talk, so he started
the talk in a very casual way. It was as if he was sitting on his bed,
where we had left him earlier. He inquired how we came to be there.
Tularam replied as Siddhi and I could not talk or even open our mouths,
"We came in search of you. How was it possible for us to stay at home
when we learned that you had gone away?"
Babaji behaved as if it
was a very common and everyday affair and we had unnecessarily given so
much importance to it. Then the usual questions began, as if cursorily
directed to Tularam: how did he know, what did others think when they
heard of it, and all such questions. Tularam could tell him only the
little which he had heard from Siddhi when she came rushing down to
wake us up.
Everybody had been sleeping in the house, but Siddhi
and two other ladies who slept on the roof above, were sitting looking
toward the road in front of the house. It was a full moon night, and
they were sitting silently, as if in meditation, when they saw some
movement going on there. Two rickshaws had come and were standing at
the gate when someone came out carrying something in his arms. The gate
was opened, and there were some others waiting there. They all sat on
the rickshaws and started off. The ladies saw but did not understand
what it was all about. The eyes had given all the snapshots to the
mind, but it could not develop them immediately. What all the pantomime
was about, they could not know.
Babaji said that the thing was
so simple that it was a surprise for him that we could not understand
it. He said that he had some important work at Mathura and his presence
was necessary there. Moreover, Ram Prakash, who had come from Agra, was
wasting his time here and his work was suffering, so he had to be taken
home. He continued, "This was decided at night when I was going to bed.
You were busy with your food. Kanhai Lal came to see me before leaving
for home. I asked him to come with two rickshaws after two in the
morning. I could not ask you because you were all busy with your food.
When the rickshaws came, I was ready to start but you were all asleep.
So I came out of my room alone and when I saw Ram Prakash sleeping on
the verandah along with others, I lifted him and took him out of the
gate. My problem was that he should not know it. If he woke up, he was
sure to draw everyone from the house by his shouting. So the wise thing
was not to wake him. For such a simple thing there was no sense in
making a fuss like you people would have done. One must use one's brain
before anything. You people do not do that. That is the cause of all
your trouble."
The sermon was over. Then as consolation for our
troubles, he said that his work was very urgent. It had not been in his
plan to go now, so he did not talk to us about it. However, he would
return soon. Ram Prakash and Kanhai Lal had returned and were standing
nearby. It was almost time for the train to come, so Babaji said we
should return home. It was then that Tularam asked him the question
which had been itching at his mind for so long. He said his only
request to Baba was that henceforth he should not leave the home
without telling Dada about it; it was painful for Dada when he learned
that Babaji had gone while he was sleeping. Babaji smiled, and granted
his prayer outright, "All right, from now on I will let Dada know
before leaving the house." A promise, very precious, extracted by
Tularam for the benefit of us all. Babaji honored his promise till the
last day before taking his samadhi. Whenever Babaji informed me that he
was leaving the house, I was reminded of Tularam and his love for me.
Babaji
returned after five or six days. Many devotees had left for their
homes, so Tularam and I had plenty of time to talk. He had much to say
about Baba. He had spent many sleepless nights sitting or moving with
Babaji in Nainital, Almora, Bhowali and Bhimtal. It was a life spent on
the streets, sometimes inside a culvert on the roadside. for those who
spend their lives in furnished houses and soft beds, it was a tough
life and often painful. But no one would think of giving it up. They
were caught like bees in honey, but not in the hive anymore.
Meals
were uncertain, but no starvation loomed for anyone. There would be
some roadside shops with open doors. When the doors were bolted and the
people within were sleeping, you could wake them up and make your
purchase. When they were near some village or house, some would go to
collect food, whatever it might be. There was no question of the food
being good, fresh, stale, sweet, or bitter. It was food to satisfy your
hunger, and when you are so very hungry, any food tastes very sweet.
Seeing Babaji, who was well known in these areas, many householders
would bring food and delicacies for him. Sometimes devotees provided a
full-scale picnic on the open road in the middle of the night, the joy
of which could never come from eating alone in one's own house.
Sometimes tea would be brought or someone would prepare it by kindling
fire near the road and collecting the ingredients from the houses or
shops in the area.
If there was a problem getting betal or
cigarettes for Tularam, someone like Jivan would collect them from
wherever they were available. Sometimes, when food was late in coming,
Babaji would send Jivan to purchase all the betals in the shop, so that
Tularam could chew them. Was it not a miracle that a person accustomed
to a life of eating rich and delicious food, accompanied with sauces
and sips, could now satisfy his hunger by chewing a bunch of betal
nuts? Tularam used to say it was a miracle that he—a lawyer
and the
owner of the India Hotel at Nainital—was now moving over
thorns and
stone chips and satisfying his hunger with whatever was given to him
before the eyes of his master.
From the time we came to know
and love each other and open our hearts, Tularam named me 'Udhav,' the
servant of Krishna. He said one day very excitedly, "Udhav, now I can
see it. It is all sheer grace to train and equip me for my
vanprastha—my life in the forest." There was no question of
arguing
with him. Agreeing in full was all that was left for me. Sitting with
him, hearing him undisturbed, was a rare treat seldom available in the
crowded house. Moreover, these sittings were always associated with
gulping tea and smoking. When Babaji was in the house there was no
opportunity for undisturbed sittings.
Tularam was a pukka
convert by now. Out of his love for me, he tried to draw me out, to
float in the mainstream with him. "You come to be dear to you," was his
motto regarding me. He was a shrewd lawyer and knew how to plead a
case. I was not gullible enough to make his job easy, but I was
pliable, and that helped him in his task. Relying on his own
experience, with untiring efforts and infinite patience, he aimed to
raise me to the rank of Babaji's devotee. Whatever little I have
attained and for which I am admired is mostly due to his unceasing
labor of love. Others might not know this, but it is always in my mind.
After
Babaji returned, our nightly sittings resumed as before. One morning
Babaji left for Benares by car along with Tularam, Siddhi, and a couple
of others. In spite of all efforts of Tularam to take me in the party,
I was left behind. Babaji's reply to Tularam was, "There is so much
work for him in the house. How could he accompany you?" After a couple
of years this came as a clear and distinct order that I was to stay at
home, as my work was there.
After they all had left that day, a
colleague from the university came and told me that his guru, Shri
Deoria Baba, was coming in the evening to bless him in his newly-built
house. He asked my help with the arrangements in the house and with the
reception of his guru. I could not agree to it, telling him Babaji
would be returning by evening, and with him in the house, I could not
move about. Moreover, there was not any interest in my mind to meet his
guru. He insited, saying his function would end before Babaji returned,
so there would not be any difficulty. I went under pressure, not as a
choice of my own. After restlessly waiting a long time for his arrival,
Deoria Baba came in a big open car in the company of many sadhus, his
disciples. There was a big crowd waiting for the darshan of the great
Mahatma. After he was seated, I escaped stealthily without informing my
friend or anyone else.
Later that evening, Babaji returned and
spent some time with the visitors waiting for him in the hall. He said
that he had to return knowing they would all be thinking of him. After
a brief talk about his visit to Benares, he asked for prasad to be
given to them and then sent the visitors away. When everyone was gone,
he asked my mother to give him food, as he was hungry. After he had
taken his food in his room with me, Maushi Ma, and Siddhi, he sent them
away, asking them to feed everyone staying in the house. We had no
sitting at night, as Babaji said everyone was tired and must all retire
now.
The next morning we gathered round Babaji, as had come to
be our practice. He was on his big cot with Tularam, Siddhi, and Maushi
Ma sitting before him. I was standing by his cot. He was talking to
those sitting before him, and then turned to me and asked abruptly,
"Did you meet Deoria Baba?" I was taken by surprise, as this all
happened in his absence and no one had talked to him about it. He began
talking about Deoria Baba—a great saint, having many
disciples. "The
sadhus and many other devotees must have come with him to your friend's
house."
What reply was I to give? Then he resumed talking, "When
they were late in coming you were thinking of running away." Everyone
was all attention. Then he asked, "Did you talk to Deoria Baba? Did you
talk, or not?" After his repeated question, I said I did not do that.
"Why not, why not?"
What could I say? Something came out of my
mouth, which I had not thought consciously. "There was a big crowd, so
I could not get my chance," was the reply I gave.
Immediately he
retorted, as if jumping on me, "You should have taken my name. You
should have mentioned my name. Why did you not do that?" When no reply
was forthcoming to his continued questioning, he caught me by the hair,
and pulling softly went on, "Tell me, tell."
My reply came, as if pulled out by some force, "For me, one Baba is
enough."
I
did not understand what I had said, but Tularam shouted, "Oh! Oh!"
seeing me standing dumb, nervous before everyone, Babaji took mercy on
me and started patting me on the head, not longer pulling my hair, as
if to help me get back my lost confidence. He was repeating, "Thik hai.
Thik hai." (It's all right. It's all right.) The silence continued for
some time with only Baba talking and everyone's ears keyed to hear him.
Many more persons started coming in, and he changed his topic and
talked about things of interest to all.
When we met that day in
our free moments, Tularam congratulated me, saying, "You've been given
the most precious thing of life, not given to anyone else." When I said
I was not aware of what he was talking about, his reply was that I need
not be, that I had it, and it would work of its own. It was long years
afterwards that I understood what Tularam had meant and for what he had
congratulated me. realization comes at its own time, and not of our
choice.
Another day, when I entered the hall in the morning,
Tularam and Siddhi were already there sitting before his cot. Tularam
had a thick book, Ramacharitmanas, in his hand, which he had been asked
to read. Seeing me, he handed over the book asking me, "Udhav, tell me,
wherefrom should I read?" I said I had not read the book or any other
version of Ramayana. Tularam might not have believed, but Babaji spoke
out, "Where is the need for you to study it?" But Tularam was
relentless, and handing over the book again, asked me to open to any of
its pages. I did it and the open page came to be in Sundar Kand.
Tularam said, "What now? This is what to be read." I looked at Babaji
in amazement. Unknown to anyone else there, there was another incident
like this, in this very hall, of which Tularam talked much. But that
came much afterwards.
It was in March that Tularam left with
Babaji. The satsang continued for some time more, but it was just a
routine affair. It lacked the zest and thrill of sitting with Tularam
either in a large company or with him alone. This was a very memorable
stage in my journey—actually the first stage in what was
awaiting me. I
was to travel on a path unknown to me, and all alone. But Tularam had
himself covered a good part of his journey through uncharted lands, and
had collected valuable knowledge which would help and guide me. His
talks were a travelogue for my own journey. That might be the main
reason for my interest in his talks, entertainment aside, they were
much enlightening for me. As Tularam used to say, this was actually
Babaji's way of preparing and equipping me for my journey, so after
they had left, there was much to work out and enjoy. There were crumbs
that you could just pick up and put in your mouth. But it was the first
lesson, the untying of knots which helped me much afterwards, when
tightly bound packages had to be handled.
Tularam was writing
regularly, giving an account of what was going on in his life with
Babaji. They had gone to Badrinath with Babaji and a few other
devotees. The places and the temples visited were minor compared to the
meetings with the sadhus and the way Babaji was received and treated by
them. Tularam was fully convinced by the sadhus' talk that Babaji was
the 'greatest sage of the age,' as he started calling him. This was
further confirmed by the sadhus at Dwarka, Rameshwaram, and Jagannath
Puri when he visited them with Babaji in 1962.
They visited many
places during this pilgrimage, but the accounts were given after they
came for the winter stay in November. It was known that Tularam would
complete his pilgrimage to the west, south, and east early next year
and would start from here. It was somewhere in the back of his mind
that he would persuade Baba to include me in his party. When he
mentioned it to me, I said there was no such hope as I was pinned down
here in the house. I did not know how I had a premonition of it, but it
subsequently proved to be correct.
This time when Babaji
arrived for his winter stay, the devotees started assembling in large
numbers. They were old devotees, but some of them were new to me.
Tularam had talked to many in the hills about his experiences the
winter before, and that had attracted many new ones. In a short time
the satsang was in full swing, everyone participating, with Babaji or
without him. Soon there ceased to be any distinction between new or
old, rich or poor, educated or uneducated. All differences ceased to
exist within the real fusion of hearts—the miracle of the
'Great
Fusion'—of which I was a witness. While many of us were
fearful that
the satsang might end soon due to the impending departure of Babaji for
the west, Tularam informed us that this journey had been shifted to
winter 1962. Instead, short visits to neighboring towns or pilgrim
centers were started, the most important of which was Chitrakut.
At
Chitrakut for the first time in 1961, Tularam was going around
Kamadgiri with Babaji when he saw that 'Ram Ram' was written on the
leaves of the trees. When he pointed this out to Babaji and asked how
it could happen, Babaji's reply was that there was nothing unusual
about it; this was the land of Ram, and not of any human being. You
have your name board in front of your house, and if Ram's name appeared
on the leaves, it was all quite ordinary. Tularam told me when we were
sitting together in Allahabad that Babaji's logic and argument were so
perfect that he felt like pitying himself for his ignorance in asking
the question. With this there was only laughter left for us. How simple
things would be if only we could believe in them.
The satsang
spent almost all its time staying home and talking to each other. They
had plenty to enjoy, and nothing to seek from anyone else so long as
they were in the shadow of Baba. Tularam left in March along with Baba,
and others left separately for their respective places. Tularam
continued writing at least once a week. He would give a picture of his
excursions, and the new faces and places visited, although the guide
and guardian with him on his journey was always the same.
After
they had all gone, the sensations of festivity and celebration came to
a sudden halt, but there was no vacuum in my life or any problem of
idle time. During the time with the devotees during the winter months I
had cut down my routine duties here and there. The duty in the lecture
rooms was fixed only for a few specified hours, but responsibility for
the students could not be confined to the classroom. It was a
time-consuming affair and did not leave time to think of other things.
Many things would take hold of me, helping me forget the loss of my
friend. It was like the special fund built up for celebrations and
festivals, collected by cutting down the routine expenditures of the
household. However, like all celebrations, when they came they were
celebrated to the full at whatever cost, and when they ended, they left
behind a trail of joy and happiness through association with his
devotees, whether they were present or far away. When Babaji has drawn
you to him, everything is given to you in his own shadow. One must
learn this and drive away worries from the mind.
A striking
thing occurred, the first of its kind for us, in September of 1961. One
morning I discovered "Ram" written on the book in Babaji's own hand,
when he had not been here for the past several months. This was unique,
and I wrote to Tularam who was with Babaji at that time in Agra. Babaji
said that Dada was remembering him, so he had written "Ram" on the book
as proof of his visit.
It was winter again when they all
returned, and soon life returned to a high pitch. Whether it was a
chorus or a symphony there was a role for everyone, and rewards in
plenty were available to all. Living like this one could learn that
life was not only misery and drudgery, which we had known for so long,
but it was also full of peace and joy. This secret is disclosed to us
only when we are drawn to the saints. This is the task with which the
saints are busy—giving us a taste of the real beatitude of
life and
throwing light on the path leading to it. Tularam had taken a taste of
it and wanted it for me also, but I had not yet become an accredited or
qualified recipient, so his efforts went into preparing me for it.
Babaji
and Tularam left for their pilgrimage in early '62 and spent several
weeks going from one place to another. Tularam always sent reports of
the tour, but it was only after their return that we had details. When
they had reached Dwarka, the head priest of the temple welcomed Babaji
and introduced him to everyone. He said that Baba always lived in the
temple and narrated a lot of things about him. There was also an old
Hanuman temple there associated with Babaji's name. Babaji admitted
that a part of his earlier life had been spent in that area.
The
most striking thing for Tularam during the whole tour was the way the
whole journey was one of homecoming, meeting old and intimate
associates who were jubilant at Babaji's arrival. He repeated again and
again that Babaji was known to all the sadhus and heads of the ashrams
and temples they visited. Babaji followed no rules or rituals in these
sacred places, but he made them go through each one as the custom of
the place demanded. Babaji seldom entered any temple for darshan, but
gave his appropriate respects by folding his hands and allowing the
sprinkling of sacred water on his head. The others—the
darshanarthis
(pilgrims seeking to be in God's presence)—were directed to
go into
every temple. With Babaji as your guide, there were no problems with
entry into the temples or sacred places which were not easily available
to all.
Tularam remarked that the real pilgrimage was to be with
Baba; visiting places and temples was of lesser importance. It had been
the wish from an earlier stage of his transformation to visit the four
sacred places of the HIndus. He had not yet been close enough to Baba
to know that all pilgrimages were in him.
After their return
from the pilgrimage, there was not much time until the end of winter
camp. Having collected much through his long and memorable journey,
Tularam was anxious to share it with me. Every minute that we could
steal from the hectic life would be utilized in retelling his
experiences to me. The enthusiasm and excitement with which they were
related was not expected from a man of his age or upbringing, but
everything was possible when you were under the spell of intoxication.
It was mostly at night that we used to have our time together.
One
day, while everyone was busy with the day's work, Babaji went out with
some of the devotees, including Tularam, to the bank of the Ganges.
After spending the whole day there, they returned in the evening when
the hall was full of people waiting for his darshan. While entering
through the gate, he started shouting and upbraiding me: "You are such
a badmash (rascal) that you have kept everyone hungry in the house. I
am also very hungry so bring my food." Everyone was stunned by this
outburst of temper, but I would not obey. He wanted to have his food in
the hall in front of everyone, which was not his usual practice. He
used to take his food in his own room with the mothers around. He would
always remind everyone, food and prayers were to be done by sitting in
a corner. So I did not bring his food into the hall at first, but was
forced to do so after repeated haggling. When a few chapatis with
vegetables were brought on a plate, he took them and started throwing
them to the people sitting in the hall. I brought one bunch after
another from the kitchen. The pan in which Didi had kept her chapatis
could hardly accommodate thirty pieces, but more than one hundred
pieces were distributed from it and still it remained full!
After
some time when everyone was busy hearing his talks, he stood up and
catching hold of my hand, came out to go to the urinal. Moving slowly
and speaking to me in an entirely different tone, he said that it was
not right for me to keep everyone hungry in the house. He had been on
the bank of the Ganges and was enjoying his time sitting there. He
could not take his food because we were not taking our food in the
house. If I had taken my food, then Ma, Maushi Ma, and Kamala also
could have taken their food with me. I had kept everyone hungry,
including him. In the afternoon, the guests staying in the house were
fed as usual, but we could not eat, as Babaji himself had not eaten.
The next morning he left again, appealing to me that if he were late in
his return, I should not keep anyone hungry in the house.
This
was the day that the drama enacted on the bank of the Ganges culminated
in his recitation of the immortal mantra, "Everything is accomplished
by taking the name of Ram." The major part of the drama was played out
in the presence of all with him—Tularam, Siddhi, Shukla,
Girish, and
Didi—but the climax and culmination were only for me. This
was the most
memorable day in the lives of the devotees, in the opinion of everyone.
And so it was.
One morning, Babaji began talking about pujas
and prayers and going on pilgrimages. "Prayer and worship should be
done by everyone, every day, as the highest obligatory duty to God;
visiting temples and pilgrimages should be undertaken only under
favorable conditions and suitable times. They are not essential for
your worship and religious duties, whereas prayers and pujas are, and
must be done in some form or other." When everyone was hearing him with
full attention, he looked at me and said curiously, "Dada, you stay at
home." I did not understand what he meant by that, so I could only
reply simply, "Thik hai, Baba." (All right, Baba.)
While we were
sitting that night and talking, Tularam said that what Babaji said was
not random, but had something to do with my sadhana, my spiritual
endeavor. Staying at home meant avoiding pilgrimages to temples and
religious centers. He said that they were not necessary for us, since
we had secured shelter at Babaji's feet; there was nothing rare or
extraordinary we could get from pilgrimages that we could not get by
staying with him.
However, most of the time in pilgrimage was
spent in Babaji's company, and that would not be possible for me if I
were staying at home. Tularam had become so intoxicated in his love and
devotion to Baba that there was no sense in trying to place before him
my own differences and disagreements with his judgment. My silence was
taken by him to be full concurrence with his opinion.
Two
days later, our morning sitting with Babaji was interrupted by the
visit of an old devotee. He wanted to say something in the presence of
all of us, but Babaji prevented this, and took him alone to his room.
After some time, Babaji asked me to give him prasad and arrange for a
rickshaw. While I was going with him to the rickshaw, the man said he
was from Madhya Pradesh. When he was young and working under a forest
contractor, he had known Baba. Many miracles happened there at that
time. He had been cut off from Babaji for all these years until some
people said Babaji visited this place in winter, so he had come in
search of him. He had wanted to talk before us all, but Babaji took him
to his room and told him that he should not talk about those things.
Babaji said that when people who had known him for so many years did
not believe these legendary miracles, how could these people believe?
It would be better if he did not talk at all.
We had been
standing before the rickshaw talking for some time when Babaji shouted
for me. He had shifted to the study room and was lying silently on the
mat laid on the floor. There were several others with
him—Tularam,
Siddhi, Girish, And a few more of the house. Babaji asked Tularam to
hand over his packet of cigarettes to a young man standing nearby. When
that had been done, he said smoking was kharabhar (bad); Tularam must
not smoke anymore. He asked the boy to destroy the cigarettes and throw
them in the nearby basket. Then he pointed to Ram Prakash to bring his
packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his silk kurta and to throw it
in the basket. Then the boy came with my packet of cigarettes. Holding
it in his hand, he said that this was Dada's packet and he should
destroy that also. Babaji stopped him saying, "Give Dada his cigarettes
back. Let Dada smoke."
No one could understand what he meant by
allowing me to continue smoking. It was a mystery. Was it because
smoking was not harmful for me? We were all left guessing. But when I
was sitting with Tularam he said, "Did you understand what he meant?
Smoking is not bad for you—at least not now. Babaji knows
this, and
there must be something deeper behind it." He went on, saying that he
knew that smoking was not good for him; everyone in his family also
knew it, but they had not been able to stop him. Babaji knew how much
we enjoyed our smoke when we were sitting together—it was
actually the
lubrication in our unceasing talks, and he would not stop that. But now
because he (Tularam) was to go away, his smoking could be stopped. It
was grace coming all the time, but in different forms. I did not
understand him fully then, but after going over it for all these years,
now I do.
After a few days Tularam left with Baba and his
family returned to Nainital. As with the parting of all the other
family members going on, this parting was not striking in any special
way. Little did we know that this was going to be the last of the
winter camps for Tularam in this house. His next winter camp was to be
celebrated somewhere else, unknown to us all. This was also going to be
an end of our talks for all time. The parting was painful and the
poignancy of it was great because we were to lose our talks that had
been made delicious with tea and smoke. His parting request was, "I
won't forget to write to you regularly, and you must always reply to my
letters promptly." I agreed and replied to his letters as promptly as I
could, but my last reply did not reach him. He had to go without it.
Siddhi told me that even on the last day he was asking everyone if
Dada's letter had come.
After leaving Allahabad, Tularam and
Babaji spent time in places near Agra and Mathura meeting old friends.
Tularam became ill and was moved to Nainital. All kinds of treatments
were started but the condition did not improve. Ultimately, he was
shifted to the hospital there. He had so many friends, all of whom
visited to console him in the suffering. Babaji visited him also in the
hospital and full consolation came from him. He started for his new
winter camp with full confidence after Babaji had placed his hand on
him in the hospital.
Tularam had done so much for me and left
much for me to relish and benefit from. He used to say that his meeting
with me came when his own conversion was more or less complete, but I
was at my grass-roots stage. I had much growing to do, but he was
satisfied that the progress was very rapid. When I tried to compliment
him for his achievement, he would return it, saying that he could not
claim any credit for it. Everything was done by Baba.
After
Tularam had left, my tea and cigarettes continued as more or less a
tame affair without any zest or punch in them. Once, Barman, who was an
old devotee and close to me, came from Delhi when Baba was here in the
winter. He relished his tea and smoke as much as I did, so we took the
first opportunity after Babaji had taken to his room. While we were
busy in the hall, we heard some laughter coming from Baba's room. When
the mothers came out afterwards, they told us how Babaji had described
to them our 'tea and smoke ceremony.' He had said, "Dada is with his
Bhagwan (God) today." Then he made the gesture of lifting the cup to
the mouth with the left hand to show our way of drinking, and with the
palm of the right hand open with two fingers close together, he showed
our way of smoking. To give a very realiztic touch to our smoking, he
drew his fingers near his mouth and made the appropriate movements with
his lips. This was the cause of the peals of laughter coming out of his
room. While we were busy in the hall with our pleasures, they were not
denied their share.
After Barman's visit, there was no one left
either here or in Kainchi or Vrindavan with whom I could enjoy my
smoke. In Kainchi I was busy all the time and could never go out to
collect any cigarettes, but friends were advised to bring cigarettes
for Dada. Whether I could smoke or not, they were lit for me when I had
moved a little away from him. Of course the cigarettes would be thrown
away when Babaji called for me. In Vrindavan, everything was in the
open and before Babaji's eyes, so there was no question of making any
effort to try and snatch a puff or two. But he never forgot that I
enjoyed my smoke.
One day, I was with him for the whole day with
no chance of smoking, so he created the situation for me. He was
sitting on the verandah with a large number of persons all around. He
asked me to take my two minutes off, and with his two closed fingers
and the movements of his lips, he indicated my standing and smoking
nearby. He pressed me to enjoy my smoke. Everyone burst into laughter,
taking this to be a good joke at the cost of Dada. I could not join
with them in their laughter. It was too deep and meaningful for me. I
had all the joy that no cigarette alone could give, so I did not go for
one. I stood before Baba as before, and he understood why I had not
moved.
In Kainchi, there was one shop nearby from which my
cigarettes came. In 1972 when I reached there, I saw a new shop on
wooden legs near the gate on the road. Siddhi narrated how two days
back, Babaji had told the shopkeeper that Dada was coming, and he
should get a big carton of Scissors cigarettes. This is the Baba I
know—providing everything you need after it has been
considered whether
it's harmful to you in any way.
This consideration of Baba
for us reminds me of Ram Thakur, who had the same kind of consideration
for his devotees. Once Ram Thakur was traveling by train from Howrah
with two of his close devotees, both of whom were great smokers.
However, they would not smoke before their guru, so whenever the train
stopped at a station, they got down and lit their cigarettes. But
before they could take a puff, the train would start moving and they
would have to throw away their lighted cigarettes.
When they
returned to the train, Thakur said in all earnestness that these
botherations of going to the platform, lighting the cigarettes, and
then throwing them away unsmoked were not necessary at all. His advise
was that being in the train comfortably, they should turn their backs
to him, light their cigarettes and enjoy them to the last puff. They
were obedient in everything the guru ever wanted them to do, but for
the first time in their lives they could not obey. They sat silently
bending down their heads. There was no more thought of cigarettes in
their mind. All their thoughts were captivated by their guru, the ever
vigilant and gracious one.
When we think of these great
gurus, unmatched in their wisdom, dedicated to the good of all,
untiring in their zeal to enforce the laws of noble living, we wonder
how they can sometimes encourage us to do things considered unworthy
for disciples. We were taught from childhood the value of sadachar
(right conduct) and the rules that were to be strictly obeyed. They
include many prohibitions, such as no indecency like smoking and
drinking before elders, particularly teachers and preceptors. That
being so, how could these gurus tempt their disciples to smoke before
them, and thereby throw away the rules of sadachar? Were such rules
obligatory or could they be broken at the behest of the master?
I
can never forget Tularam's company in enjoying tea and smoke, and I
missed that most in parting with him. I had been separated from the
friends of my social life with whom I used to enjoy myself in full
abandon. But with the coming of Tularam to Babaji's house, this
returned in a more appropriate form. Many devotees came, but with so
few of them could I smoke and sip tea freely. When one wanted to enjoy
the pleasures of the 'tavern' life, one must flock with the habitual
tavern visitors. I had that with Tularam and no others. As Tularam used
to say, an extension to his smoking was granted simply because our
enjoyment could not be cut short. Babaji would be mostly in his room
surrounded by the mothers, entertaining them with his pleasant talks
and caricature, when Tularam and I would be sitting in the hall with
our tea and smoke. Baba would seldom deny the mothers their laughter at
our cost. "They are lost in their talks. Both of them are experts in
drinking tea and smoking cigarettes. When they talk with a cup in one
hand and cigarette in the other, they forget that there is anything
else in the world."
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