A beggar's life

Because of my positive mental outlook, my health has improved greatly.

Though I still suffer from dysentery and hepatitis, most of the pain in my stomach is gone, and I can stand up comfortably. My sense of humor.hasn’t fully returned, but at least I’m able to be pleasant with the other trainees.

Until now I couldn’t do one part of the training due to my ill health: SPT 22 .

The trainers were afraid I would collapse if I did. My feeling, however, was that the training would strengthen rather than weaken me. I argued again and again that merely pacing up and down our little courtyard was not enough for me. Yesterday they reluctantly consented, and today my SPT began.

I now use only two large pieces of white cotton for clothing. One I tie on like a loose skirt.

The other piece, draped around my upper body, doubles as a bag for collecting vegetables whenever I go out begging. Deprived of soap, comb, toothbrush and paste, I use ash, dirt and water to clean my body, and twigs from the neem tree to clean my teeth. Perhaps the greatest difficulty is the lack of shoes or sandals, because the road is blistering hot.

Each morning I go from door to door, begging for vegetables and flour. I utter only four words: H ari aum tat sat, meaning “The original cosmic Word of God is That unchanging Truth”. I may speak these

21 Since that day, I have never known depression for more than a few minutes at a time.

I attribute this to the simple determination not to accept sorrow, combined with vari¬ ous Tantric practices which strengthen the mind. Of these practices, the most impor¬ tant is kiirtan. On the other hand, the devotional sorrow that one may feel in relation to God or guru can be a good thing.

22 Sadhana piitha training. Sadhana means spiritual effort, and piitha means a point which is spiritually charged (like the special meditation spots in Ananda Nagar). SPT is an exercise in poverty, silence and begging which each trainee undergoes for at least one week. The temporary identification with the poorest of the poor is in itself said to bean illuminating power point for spiritual realization.

words three times to any person. If someone should repeatedly insist that I provide a justification, I may explain. But after that I may not accept any donation from him. Generally, two hours of begging is sufficient.

From the money I receive, I buy a small clay cooking pot and a bit of cow dung for fuel.

Whatever remains is turned over to the trainers. I cook only those foodstuffs which are directly donated.

Though the experience is difficult, I don’t care; I am pleased that I am finally allowed to do it.

A week later. Today was my final day of SPT. While taking off and burning my beggar’s dress, one thought pounded over and over in my brain: I must not forget the difficulties of our brothers and sisters who live like this. The work for society’s upliftment is meaningless unless those who are lowest rise up.

Besides this. I’m more confident now of being able to accept any difficulties I may undergo in the future due to human-made or natural catastrophes.

Ironically, the exercise was exactly what my body needed. My diseases go on, but the walking has given me energy which I lacked the last two months. Because of the silence and simple life style, meditation is also stronger.

One strange element: though all SPT trainees complain that the streets burn their feet, I didn’t feel the slightest trouble.

I remember the incident of one brother who said to our guru, “Baba, I am weak. Please give me more power so that I may better do Your work.”

Baba replied, “There’s no need to ask. First use up whatever power you’ve got. Then you can be sure the Supreme Consciousness will grant you more. When your tractor is so broken it can no longer be refueled. He will give you a new tractor.”

The force of sweetness

It was announced today that the four westerners plus a few other trainees will soon commence “field training”. We will leave the training center for about one week. Each of us will travel to a different city to hold lectures and meetings on meditation and yoga for the general public.

When I heard the news, the first thought to pop in my mind was. Finally, a chance to get some sweets! Though I know I should not think

of such things, the idea of sweets keeps coming and coming. Truthfully, I’m not really trying to control my mind, because I enjoy thinking of the sweets. I wonder if such crude thinking is common for people undergoing intense yogic training.

My field training is in Mokamo, a city of about 100,000 people. It is a half-day’s train ride from Benares. Ananda Marga has a large group of active members here.

When I arrived at the station, I was met by the local Ananda Marga leader.

His name is Madhusudan, which is an ancient name of Lord Krishna. Everyone calls him “Madhu” for short, which means “sweet” or “honey”. I found this an intriguing coincidence, considering my intense longing for sweets.

Before starting a tight schedule of lectures, Madhu wanted to introduce me to some of the leading Margis in the city. First he took me to the house of a high school teacher. As soon as we entered, the man jumped up and said, “I shan’t be a minute. Take rest please, and I’ll be right back.”

When he returned he was holding a small cardboard box, which he placed on the table in front of me. “Open it,” he said, “and please enjoy the contents.”

The box was full of burfi— expensive milk-sweets! I was so excited.

Pretending to be calm, I first offered the sweets to the teacher and to Madhu. Madhu said, “Oh, no no no. These are just for you.” He added in a soft voice so that the teacher would not hear him, “And it is better that you eat them all, otherwise he may be offended.”

I nodded, maintaining my composure, but I was internally thrilled and delighted. Within five minutes I finished the box— about a half kilogram.

After some short discussion, Madhu and I left for the house of another Margi, a police officer. When he saw us, he also stood up and asked us to wait a moment for him. Like the teacher, he returned with a cardboard box and opened it for me.

It contained gulab jaman— slightly different but equally rich milk sweets. “Am I dreaming?” I thought. Again they refused to accept any for themselves, and I was compelled to eat everything. Now I felt totally satisfied.

We went to another Margi’s house and the same sequence of events! Another half kilogram of milk sweets. Too much! But again their custom forced me to finish it. “Baba, what are you doing to me?” Now I felt a bit ill, with a heavy stomach and a hyped-up, sugar-stimulated nervous system.

We went to another Margi’s house where I was offered my fourth box of milk sweets.

“I can’t possibly eat it,” I whispered to Madhu.

“But you must.” he hissed. “Don’t cause any embarrassment.” Strange how biting his tone seemed to be. almost heartless, as if he knew that I had been improperly desiring these sweets, and now must pay the price. But I hadn’t mentioned these thoughts to anyone.

Slowly I forced myself to eat those sweets also. I felt like vomiting.

After this visit, he insisted we go to another house, but I refused point- blank.

In the future, I must try to avoid concentrating on any crude desires. It seems that meditation causes their manifestation.

Logic beyond logic

The field training keeps me hectically busy, and I love it. The internal energy built up in Benares is finding its expression. Usually I give three or four lectures daily for different schools, clubs, and civic organizations. It seems like everyone in the city knows that I’m here, and they all want to see the westerner who teaches yoga. I’m not yet authorized to teach personalized meditation techniques, but I’ve been teaching the Baba Nam Kevalam mantra to crowds of up to 2000 people at a time.

I usually have very little advance notice of whom I’ll be speaking to, nor do I prepare my lectures. My talks are all spontaneous. Because some people attend more than one program, 1 also make sure each talk is unique.

Today I was brought to the main university. Before giving the lecture, the organizers ushered me into a meeting room in which there were about forty professors.

“Who’s the audience this time, Madhu?” 1 asked.

“You will be speaking to the combined faculty and students of three departments: logic, ethics and metaphysics.”

“I see.” At that time I was in such a flow that my intellect was barely functioning. I was slightly baffled trying to understand the meaning of each of these three words. ‘Logic’ was okay, ’ethics’ was half clear, but ‘metaphysics’ left me in a cloud.

I turned to converse with the professor sitting next to me. After a few minutes, I nonchalantly came to my real point.

“You know in the west,” I said, “many words carry different meaning than in India. Here at this university, what do you mean by the word ’metaphysics’?”

I grasped little of his complicated reply. But at least I memorized his words “those dimensions that transcend purely physical analysis.”

“Dadaji,” another professor inteijected, “all of us would like to know the title of your discourse today.” His voice was loud enough that everyone suddenly stopped their personal conversations to listen to my reply.

Without thinking, I said, “I will talk on ‘The Absolute and Eternal Relationship between Logic, Ethics and Metaphysics’.”

There was a gasp of many voices throughout the room.

“No one has ever spoken on such a topic here, Dadaji. It should be extremely interesting.”

Now I was occupied trying to deduce the meaning of my title. But before I could figure out even the slightest connection, the door opened, and one man announced, “Gentlemen, let us proceed to the lecture hall.”

The organizers brought me onto a stage. I faced about 500 students and teachers. One man spent five minutes lauding praises on me. During that time I tried to divine something of my subject, but could only draw a blank.

Then it was my turn to speak. From the moment I started, I had no idea what I was saying. The words I used were complex, and the sentence structures and relations between those sentences were even more complex. I was totally lost, but went on speaking enthusiastically. Several times the audience interrupted me with applause, though I didn’t know what they were appreciating. At the end, they gave me a long and loud standing ovation.

The main organizer told the audience, “When Dadaji first told the title of his lecture, many of us wondered what he would speak. I dare say that we are now fully satisfied with his explanation. Nevertheless, you are now welcome to ask questions.”

One student stood up and asked something. God knows what he asked; it was far beyond my understanding.

“Instead of replying,” I said, “what would you think if here and now I were to teach you all something which will answer all the questions you have related to this topic?”

Everyone applauded. I taught them B aba Nam K evalam meditation.

Then I escaped.