Is this your story LB? --- L B Shriver <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote:
> Desolate in Delhi > > My stay in the Valley of the Saints was drawing > toward its inevitable close. I accepted this > without concern, even though I could not remember > having been as happy anywhere as I > had been here, beside the swiftly flowing waters of > the world's most sacred river. I had > been living a life of constant satsang among the > saints, sadhus, and swamis, and working > daily with the brahmacharis translating the 108 > discourses of Brahmanandaji. However, I > had also enjoyed the freedom of the lone traveler to > explore and investigate, poking into > obscure corners of a place that might have been > better off if time had forgotten ita > possibility that disappeared without a trace when > the Beatles arrived in '68. > No longer the pristine sanctuary of its legendary > past, Rishikesh nevertheless remains > a place where the real and the unreal can be > compared like tomatoes at a supermarket. I > had been generously treated to both. > The Gangadharishwar Ashram, my home for nearly six > weeks, is located on the west > bank of the river, exactly across from Maharishi's > ashram to the east. Like many of the > ashrams in Rishikesh, it has a dual function: first, > as a home for those in full time pursuit > of Supreme Knowledge, and secondly as a retreat > center for householders and others who > can only come for weekends or summer courses. > One such family from Delhi came to the ashram > shortly before I leftfather, mother, > daughter, two sons, aunt, and nephew. Late one > afternoon a few days after they arrived, I > watched as a trespassing monkey chased the little > girl wildly around the inner courtyard , > to the intense amusement of her father, uncle, > brothers, and some of the workers at the > ashram. I suspect he was in love. > The next morning I was sitting in the sun beside > the river when the young lady sat > down beside me. Her name was Kanika. In the course > of our conversation, which covered a > surprising amount of ground in a fairly short time, > she told me that she really liked > studying Sanskrit because it was so easy. I > flinched, but only on "that quiet level," so she > didn't notice. I asked her how she liked > mathematics. Just fine, she told me, math was also > easy. I asked her if anything in school was > difficult for her. She paused a moment and said, > no, everything was easy. I was starting to feel awed > by her radiant intelligence, almost > forgetting that I was talking with a ten-year-old. > Then I asked her what she liked best in > school, and she told me that reading stories was her > favorite activity. Her favorite stories? > Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella. > We met by the river again the following morning. > Kanika sang me a hymn from the > Christian school she attended in Delhi, and I sang > "Long Black Veil," the only song I could > remember from beginning to end. A few days later my > little friend and her family left the > ashram. Her father, Mukesh, asked where I would be > staying in Delhi and when I would > arrive, and then they were gone. > My own departure came shortly thereafter. The most > difficult part was saying > goodbye to Swamini Maneeshananda, who had been my > dearest friend and teacher during > my stay at the ashram. At 75, Mata Ji had been at > Gangadharishwar for 27 years. As I sat in > the back seat of the taxi , she reached through the > window and gently touched my facea > rare blessing from a Sannyasi, and especially > poignant when given by this one. She had > recently told me that she felt she had fulfilled > life's purpose, and now she was only > "waiting for the body to drop." I certainly hoped > she wasn't in any kind of hurry, and as the > taxi wound its way through the village streets of > Purani Jhadi, I finally realized how > reluctant I was to leave. > The Maha Kumbh Mela was still in progress at > Haridwar, and the train station was > packed with sadhus and pilgrims. I took the Shatabdi > Express to Delhi, arriving late on > Wednesday afternoon. Then I checked in at the > Namaskar hotel, just off the Main Bazaar in > the Pahar Ganj, a low rent commercial district west > of the main railway station. > Thursday morning I went back to the railway station > to buy my ticket for the two-day > trip to Bangalore. On the way back to the Namaskar I > bumped into Mukesh, who had > looked me up as promised. The next day he came back > to accompany me on various > errands I had to run in Delhi before leaving. We > took an autorickshaw through Connaught > Place and south along Janpath, past the India Gate > and deep into the southeast part of > New Delhi, where I had located a photo lab that > could process my film quickly and cheaply. > Then we headed west across town to visit a friend I > had met in Rishikesh. > The pollution in Delhi is among the worst in the > world. I had heard that a day of > breathing in Delhi is equivalent to smoking 20 packs > of cigarettes, so I found no reason > to object when Mukesh offered me a smoke. However, > he couldn't conceal his disgust later > when I bought a bede and smoked it. > The afternoon wore on. As we headed north again, a > peculiar thought arose: I am > leaving this world, a voice inside me said, and the > voice was my own. I have since been > told that this is a perfectly reasonable thought for > anyone traveling by autorickshaw in > India, but somehow it seemed more profound and > insistent. No, I did not take it as a > premonition about leaving the body. I knew full well > that this "vehicle" still had a few good > miles in itthe problem was that there was nowhere > left to go. > The dirt and the noise seemed more oppressive than > ever, and the endless clouds of > diesel fumes and carbon monoxide didn't help. But it > was more than that. In the world to > which I was presumably returning, I could think of > nothing that had the faintest bit of > charm left in it. Would I continue to write? Why > bother, when I really had nothing to say? > Would I seek fulfillment in a relationship? What > would be the point? None of my toys, none > of my enthusiasms, none of my old haunts appealed to > me in the least. > We continued jolting and sputtering northward on > Janpath, past Sonia Ghandi's > palace with its armed guards at the gate, rolling > into Connaught place shortly after five > the peak of the rush hour, a literal and figurative > descent into the maelstrom, where the > noise and the intensity of the traffic are simply > unimaginable if you haven't experienced > them. It's probably as close to hell as you can get > without a one way ticket. > As we got closer to the Pahar Ganj, the enormity of > my loss continued to reveal itself. > There was no bliss of the effulgent Self, no > immanent merging with the Supreme, only the > certain knowledge that the life I had lived was > gone. The thought came again: I am leaving > this world. > Mukesh dropped me off at the entrance to the Main > Bazaar, and a few minutes later I > was back at the hotel. As I climbed the steps to my > room, I realized that I had just enough > time to meditate, pack, and eat before catching the > train to Bangalore. > I settled into a bleak and empty meditation. After > about ten or fifteen minutes there > was a knock on the door. Someone on the other side > informed me that I had a phone call > downstairs at the desk. I made my way down the > narrow marble steps, vaguely wondering > what fresh insults the universe was concocting to > further crush my spirit. > The manager handed me the phone. > "Hello?" > The voice in my ear was sweet and familiar. > Suddenly the cleansing waters of the > Ganga were flowing all around me, and the brilliant > morning sun of Rishikesh was > sparkling in every wave and ripple. > "This is Kanika. I've been missing you " > > > > > > > ------------------------ Yahoo! Groups Sponsor > --------------------~--> > AIDS in India: A "lurking bomb." 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