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Chapter
4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter
9 | Chapter 11 | Chapter
13 | Chapter 1 - Book 2
CHAPTER FOUR
Bucket Baths and Ocher Robes
By 5:00am every morning, the loudspeakers from the Mela would
drift over the waters the constant chatter of an unknown monologue.
On the river beside us was a camp of 500 sadhus of all ages.
The continual chanting of sacred mantras wrapped our camp in
ancient rhythms, providing a backdrop that could not have been
more perfectly orchestrated had it been special-ordered. The
constant breeze rustling leaves mixed with the quiet hush of
mental japa soon provided a cocoon of peacefulness about our
camp unlike any I had ever known.
Back in the United States one of my deepest desires had been
to sit on the banks of the Ganges River and chant the Guru
Gita. This ancient text extolling love for God and Guru was
my favorite part of my morning and the cornerstone of my sadhana.
For almost two years, I had imagined how wonderful it would
be to chant along this living entity of a river, which had
over the years blessed so many spiritual seekers. Saints, sinners,
animals, and gods have all had the Ganges play a part in their
lives. I wanted that blessing, too.
The morning after our arrival,
I quietly slipped out of the tent for meditation in the grove
of holy
trees. With the gates
to the camp securely locked and no way to get the guard to
let me out, I had to be content to watch the first streaks
of gray touch the sky high on the ridge. Looking below into
the edges of the river, I had my first sighting of the many
sadhus taking their ritual morning bath. From my vantage point
I could barely make out their forms in the mist, but the bending,
ducking beneath the water, and raising of their hands high
to the sky was a sacred act that left me feeling like I was
looking back into another time. I felt a great intimacy with
them, though I was sure they couldn’t see me.
Their robes of many shades of orange waited patiently on the
banks of the river for them to finish. Some so pale they were
almost peach had draped the bodies of their owners over many
long years. No matter how bright or faded, they each held the
intense shakti that had permeated their strands from days,
months, and years of walking the breadth and width of India.
Though the words never touched my ears, I felt their prayers
in my heart. How I wanted to be down there with them, learning
from them, being one of them. The difference in our lives painfully
obvious, the dichotomy between holy and ordinary seeped deep
into my feelings of lack and low self-worth. They were the
richer of the two of us.
Patiently I waited with my
chanting book in hand for the guard’s
all-controlling grace to unlock the gate. Once again I saw
myself standing on the wrong side of the fence, wanting desperately
to be free from this gilded cage that was put up for our own
protection. Why did there always seem to be a gatekeeper between
me and my highest aspirations?
As if on perfect cue, an aging
sadhu walked slowly past, offering a greeting of “Hari Om,” smiling at us both. Replying
back, the guard finally realized I had been standing behind
him, though he wasn’t sure for how long. Slowly he turned
and looked at my chanting book and finally the lock. Easily
his key turned the tumblers and offered the freedom to make
my dream a reality. Walking through the gate, I watched as
the sadhu moved on, but not before raising his right hand in
a gesture of blessing to us both. Yes, without the grace of
Gurus, that gate would be forever locked, of that I was sure.
Chapter
4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter
9 | Chapter 11 | Chapter
13 | Chapter 1 - Book 2
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