A little dirty money

The itch still remains to be on the move and working. On top of that, my financial situation is precarious. The office in Patna gave me only a train ticket to Calcutta and 150 rupees (about US$ 10). I wouldn’t feel so bad spending the money at a miserly pace, but for the feeling that I’m not being properly sociable. Everyday I buy only the exact amount of vegetables I need, then eat a modest, self-cooked meal alone, consciously ignoring most of the opportunities I have to share it with whoever else happens to be around.

But if I share the little I’ve got, the money may not last until my ticket arrives. God knows when that will be. Of course. I’ve got to be practical, even if it looks a little greedy.

Today I was alone in the house. Everyone else was out participating in a demonstration to protest Baba’s imprisonment and the persecution of Ananda Marga.

About 3,000 Margis were there. I was instructed not to attend because I might be picked up and questioned by the police, and blacklisted from entering India.

A knock on the door (this time a solid knock). Two youths smiled at me. They were perhaps twenty years old.

The tall one said, “Namaskar. We are Margis. May we come in?”

“Of course,” I said, happy for the company. I took them into the main room, and we sat down on the floor (a foregone conclusion, there being no chairs in the house). We talked back and forth about our origins. They were from a nearby village.

I asked them if they knew any devotional songs. They looked at each other, spoke between themselves in Bengali, and burst into a rhythmic song.

Then they asked me to sing something, which I did.

“Now, how about some meditation?” I said.

“Yes, meditation is good,” the tall boy said.

“Fine. I’ll go for half-bath first, and then you two can do half-bath.”

“Thank you.”

After about two minutes in the bathroom, I returned. “Ah, I’m very sorry,” the tall boy said, “but I think we have to leave now. We did not tell our mother that we would be away so long.” “Yes, and it looks like rain,” the other said. “Well, that’s too bad. Can’t you just stay for a short meditation?” “No, we’ve really got to go…”

As I stood up with them, I suddenly had a thought: “Maybe they aren’t really Margis, and they stole my money.”

We walked toward the door. I thought, “No, it’s impossible. The money is deep inside my bag in a secret place, and they’d never find it in such a short time.”

They left. The thought that they might have ripped me off kept nagging me. But I thought again and again, “I mustn’t be so cynical and negative.”

Finally, just to still my doubts, I checked my bag. My wallet was gone.

I ran to the door. Of course they were long gone, and untraceable.

“What a damn fool I am! What an ignoramus!” I sat down thoroughly befuddled, bemoaning my situation. What was I to do now?

The peculiar thing is that even in the midst of this crisis I kept thinking: “How intricately I calculated my food needs, hardly sharing a leaf of spinach with anyone—and now my little dirty money is all gone. Everyone could have nicely enjoyed together with me.”

On the plane to Hong Kong. In the last two days I’ve come to the conclusion that the robbery happened as another lesson to teach me to depend on Him rather than on my little self. Having no money, I was forced to depend on hand-outs.

Call it coincidence if you like, but yesterday my ticket to the Philippines arrived.

There I will meet my higher authority—the Dada who will supervise my work in Australia. Without a penny in my pocket I boarded the plane. A businessman sitting next to me asked the meaning of my uniform, and that led into a long discussion about yoga.

At the end of the flight I mentioned to him that I had no money. Without any hesitation he gave me five dollars, which was much more than the stolen money. Having been poor so long, I was elated with the first donation I ever solicited.

Big task for a small boy?

Manila, Philippines. My posting is the South Pacific Sector but I’ll stay in the Philippines for a few weeks because my Sectorial Secretary is here in Manila with temporary visa complications.

Ananda Marga divides the world into 9 sectors. The South Pacific includes Australia, New Zealand, Papua New Guinea, and most of the South Pacific islands.

28 Southeast Asia Sector includes the Philippines, and the rest of Southeast Asia from Thailand down to the edge of the South Pacific Sector.

29 Local full-timers are volunteers who work full time for Ananda M arga, usually for a specified period of time, and who follow a yogic discipline during that period similar to that prescribed for acharyas

As I am his only subordinate, it means I shall be working alone for some time in the South Pacific sector. If anyone were to say, “Sounds like a pretty big task for a new boy”—I would say, “I’m Baba’s boy. Big or small, it’s all the same for me.”

The dysentery which I caught almost one year ago in Benares is still ravaging my intestinal system. In an effort to clean it out. I’ll be eating only raw fruits and vegetables for at least a month or two.

I’ve been working during these three days with the Southeast Asia Sectorial Secretary, Dada Adveshananda. 28 Adveshanandaji is an interesting man. He doesn’t care for anything except maximum working speed, and that too he does with a smile.

While walking through town today with him and two local full-timers 29 , I said, “Excuse me, Dadaji. Part of your turban is hanging out.”

I was running to keep up with him.

“What’s that you say, my little one?” He seemed always to be thinking a hundred things at once, and one needed to be very direct to get through to him.

I repeated myself loudly in his ear.

" Acha, I got you," he said. He turned to one of the full-timers, saying, “Ramdas, you’ve got a scissors with you, don’t you?”

We were still walking in top gear. Ramdas handed over the scissors. Adveshanandaji instantly cut off the protruding orange strip, and threw it in a garbage can as he passed. In the next moment he turned to the other full-timer to talk about an urgent matter.

I asked Ramdas today to tell me something about Adveshanandaji. He told me that Dada had worked most of his life in India. During a one-year stint in Europe, he traveled incessantly, often passing the nights sleeping in telephone booths. During that time he initiated into meditation more than 1000 people.

He arrived in the Philippines two years before. He openly stated several times, “My main work here is the creation of Dadas and Didis.”

One time he instructed a local full-timer to prepare to travel to a distant Philippine island to start Ananda Marga there. That full-timer spent more than a month earning sufficient money for the trip. With Dada’s permission, he went to his posting, taking two days to go there.

After arriving at the island, he found a telegram addressed to him: “Return to headquarters immediately. Adveshananda.”

The full-timer returned as quickly as possible. When he entered the Manila yoga house, he ran up to Adveshanandaji.

“Dadaji, I’m here!”

“Hmm. What?”

“Your telegram … so I came like lightning. What’s the program?”

“Ah, yes. You’re the program. Good work.”

“Dadaji, is there some urgent work for me or…?” But it was too late for further questions. Adveshanandaji had already turned to some other matter.

Ramdas added: “Recently that full-timer went to training to become a Dada, so I guess it worked. Dadaji breaks our attachments left and right.”

I asked for another example of Adveshanandaism.

Ramdas said, “One time about 600 Margis were collected together for an all- Philippines retreat. Two days into the program we were having a 24-hour kiirtan. About half-way through the kiirtan, Dada mounted the lecture stage, held up both of his hands and yelled, ‘Stop the kiirtan!’ Everyone was shocked, but we stopped.

“Adveshanandaji stood there visibly vibrated. He said, ‘Dharma Maha Samelan (DMS) will now be held!’ Everyone was even more shocked. Baba personally allocates His representative for this specially planned event.

Of course no one had planned that this present program would be a DMS, and so, well, simply speaking, it could not be a DMS.

“But there stood Adveshanandaji, his eyes closed, his hands held up. The room became totally silent, everyone filled with excitement and expectation, as we awaited the ‘DMS’ speech.

“Instead of a speech, however, Adveshanandaji began speaking over and over, ‘Baba, Baba, Baba… 1 He became louder and louder, and super intense. Then we were all yelling ‘Baba! Baba!’ Several Margis collapsed in samadhi 30 . I never felt anything so strong in my life.

“I think about ten Margis volunteered to go for wholetimer training after that.”