The Sadhu

Sunday, October 10

Today I did seva, by volunteering my services in the kitchen for two hours. This is quite a common practice at most ashrams and I felt duty bound to make a contribution. It was perhaps penance for yesterdays bad behavior. I worked along side Prema, who hails from Brazil, but has lived in India for more than fifteen years. She is a regular visitor here at the ashram and is keen to teach me the protocols.

We set to work cleaning the kitchen appliances and agreed to go out for coffee later in the afternoon. The benefit to working in the kitchen is that I could ask the cook, Chita how to prepare the dish I had eaten for breakfast as it was particularly good. Dalia ( pronounced Daleea) is a traditional Indian dish;it has the consistency of porridge, but is quite spicy and very filling. Following is the recipe:

Dalia

One cup millet

1/2cCup finely chopped vegetables

1 small onion finely chopped

1 chopped tomato

1 clove garlic

Chilli peppers ( optional)

Pour two cups of water over the millet in a saucepan and bring to a boil. Add ghee, salt, turmeric, mustard seeds and let simmer for ten minutes.

At the end of the two hours, I had scrubbed the kitchen walls and washed down the kitchen surfaces and it felt goods to be able to get to know the staff who work here more intimately. I met Prema at the front gate and we set off on foot for the German Bakery Cafe in town. It is one of the central tourist hubs and Prema's favorite place to go man hunting. The key she said is to venture there alone, and sit quietly sipping tea, signaling that you are alone and wait for some one to take bait. There are so many thing yet to learn on the road to Nirvana.

We each ordered apple pie and I had to chisel through a large wedge that could easily have served for two. Prema made a quick scan of the cafe and not spotting any potentials, turned to give me her undivided attention. She shared with me the story of her here in India and was keen to impart all the do's and dont's of living here. She lives a very interesting life, as she is constantly traveling and seems to move on to a new place every few months, as her spirit leads. She has the kind of carefree spirit that demonstrates complete trust in the universe. I find this quality enviable, as I have never experienced that level of freedom.

We saunter over the bridge and walk through the market, where Prema stops to purchase fruit for a friend. She is taking me to visit a sadhu that she has befriended. The sadhu are men who have renounced everything to devote themselves to a completely spiritual path, in the hope of achieving enlightenment. Her friend has lived in a cave above the beach for the past four years and she makes it her duty to visit him regularly when she is in the area.

Rishikesh is nestled in the foot hills of the Himalayan mountains, and as we exit the market, the climb becomes steeper. However, it is not long before Prema points to a small hut on an out crop of rocks, half way down the bank of eh river. I follow her as she clamber down toward the tiny structure. A man seated on the steps of the small brick structure stands to wave a greeting. He quite tall and looks rather distinguished, with a silvery gray beard that is well groomed and short cropped hair. He has a handsome face and intelligent eyes, framed by a pair of steel rimmed glasses. But for his bare feet and naked chest, he could easily have passed for a college professor. His only clothing is a lapa of orange cloth tied at the waist. He greeted Prema warmly, embracing her like a long lost cousin, as he escorted us into his tiny little hut.

In his voice I detected a distinctly British accent, that suggested in his earlier life, he had likely been educated abroad. He held himself with a quiet self assurance that did not match with his meager existence. The hut contained a small metal cot, a camping stove and a few pieces of crockery. These, a blanket and a few changes of clothes, were all that he possessed. Immediately as we entered, Prema did her inspection of the walls. There had been heavy rain fall through out the month of September, and the walls which she had had painted last year, were now damp and peeling.

The sadhu whose name fails me at the moment, suffers from inflammation of the joints and Prema has real concern for his welfare. She pressed a package of pain killers and lineament into his hands and admonished him to use them. He nodded in agreement, and set about preparing coffee for us. The water he used was stored in a small stainless steel pail that he kept covered with a metal tray. I was unsure about the safety of it, but at worst I would end up with a bad case of dysentery.

After a brief introduction, he and Prema exchanged stories bringing each other up to date and I simply listened . The sadhu informed me that he felt a deep connection to Prema, as she had embraced “the very nerve of India.” The ability to live a life of meditation and to walk the spiritual path with unquestioning faith. In his view they were on similar paths and he regarded her very highly.

He was pleased to have guests and I sensed a deep loneliness in him. I asked him why he had chosen this path of austerity. He didn't answer me, instead, he invited me to come back and visit him. We were running late for evening prayers and had to say our goodbyes. Reluctant to let us go, he only did so after Prema had promised to visit again soon.

Once we had made our way back up the bank, Prema confirmed that he had been a business man before he renounced everything. But she wouldn't share anything more, leaving it for him to tell me himself. I have made a mental list of the things he needs and will buy them when next I go into the main town of Rishikesh. It is by the good will others that the sadhu survive, as they have no no source of income have little or no possessions. Even the huts in which they live are a temporary domicile and many simply roam from place to place begging alms. It is a harsh existence.

After dinner, I spent the few hours left before lights out at 10:00pm, chatting with Sunil and Chandra. It was another sleepless night in Seattle and I was too frustrated to even bother to write. Instead, I lay in bed cursing the barking dogs, and wrestling with myself, until I fell asleep through sheer exhaustion.