Will Durant’s ‘The Story of Philosophy’ is one of my favourite books. It is a brilliant interpretation of the thoughts and lives of men who shaped generations. I am mentioning the book as a way of underlining that great minds move me deeply. So besotted by poets, writers and mystics have I been that while reading them or about them, I often gave a standing ovation to God in the privacy of my home for having gifted humanity with such people.
This attraction towards special human beings reached a climax when I met my guru 21 years ago. However, in his case, unlike that of my favourite authors, it was not the words but the silence that I found magical. In the beginning I used to pour my heart out to him; he would say a syllable or two and that would be enough to satiate me. Largely, he communicated in silence, knew my mind like an open book and in time I understood that I did not have to tell him anything for him to know.
I had wide social concerns then as I have now. Knowing that he heard all my thoughts, I petitioned him wildly about far-off issues until one day he said: “Ma”– that is how he addressed all girls, from three to 80—“tum mere ko kya kya karne ko bolta hai (what all do you tell me to do)?” I felt caught and sheepish, but did not stop telling him–just as I would God. The guru had the glow of the sun and moon combined, his silent messages to me were literally a beam of light from his eyes when I was in his physical presence and I lived life entranced.
I became a fixture at the ashram for almost five years (when the guru was in town; Delhi was one of the three places where he had an ashram). Such was his pull that I simply lost interest in all my addas (regular joints) as a mainstream journalist. It is as though all roads in Delhi led to the ashram. I have no idea about the countless ways in which he cleansed me of all the muck/illusions I, as a normal human being, would have been prey to. I was yet to grasp the divine design by which I had met him when the guru left his body.
Had I imbibed even a bit of what the guru had been imparting to me, I would neither have taken him for granted nor staggered the way I did when he left his body. Thirty one long, long months, and deep emotional personal suffering later, I stabilised– by the practice of silence and prayers, which, I am sure, was again by the grace of the guru. Then God sent me another divine being and blessed me with the knowledge that “God and guru are one and guru is not physical” (Paramhansa Yoganand). I have been under his wings the last 14 years, 12 out of which were action-packed, six in work way beyond my physical capacity.
The guru himself is a karma yogi straight out of Srimad Bhagavad Geeta. After the initial, spellbound and enchanted years with him, I came to understand what he had told me when I first met him: “Do your own travel; it is useless to find another (realised soul).” I also learned from him that the purpose of human life is god-realisation, that suffering is a gift, that all hardship is actually a kind of divine laundry washing away the negative actions of the past, and that, what to talk of us, even avatars have to expend their karma.
The best part of the ups and downs of life now is the realisation that it shall all come to pass; also the consolation that the guru is there by your side. I can write a book on the daily miracles I have experienced under these two realised masters, but for now let me say why I opened the piece with a mention of a favourite book, and the difference I discovered between the minds of great writers and the super-conscious state (toraya) of mystics.
At a Sunday session with the guru, when a fellow traveller asked a boring question, a thought flashed through by head about my days as an avid reader, specifically about how interesting ‘The Story of Philosophy’ was. Just then, I heard the guru talk about Voltaire and Schopenhauer, about the latter he used the exact words that I had used scores of times in my life because I wasn’t sure if I pronounced his name right. ” …….Schopenhauer..I think.. that is how we pronounce his name”.
I was stunned despite being used to such daily and distant readings of my mind. The reference to Schopenhauer, even to the pronunciation of his name, was a reminder that he knew what I was thinking. He went on to talk about the western philosophers to indulge me despite never having opened a book about them. That is who a guru is. Unlike all of us, including the greats of science and art, a guru does not need to read books or physical exposure to know people and things. I know this when I hear him talk of black holes, gol-gappas, Yajur Veda and cellular intelligence—all in one open session with a diverse, unknown and curious audience.
He is able to do that because he is just a clear channel for the supreme consciousness, a perennial flow. He has erased his ‘I’ and the attendant physical limitations through jap, tapas,karma and dhyan. There are many other wondrous things I have discovered about this world: The guru does not come to you, he is sent to you; you do not find him, he finds you; he needs nothing from you, you have nothing to give him, and he is sent to you for your sake, out of the highest compassion. God sees you struggling and fumbling. He sends tangible help in the form of a guru. The guru shows you the reality of life, of sorrow and joy and, most of all, he stokes the dormant desire for self-realisation smouldering under the ambers of illusion. You know it when he tells you not to gloat about him but to find the divinity within yourself.
“Je sau chanda ugve suraj charhe hazaar aite chaanan hondiyan gur bin ghore andhaar (let a hundred moons sprout, let a thousand suns rise; there is only deep darkness without the guru).” This line from the Guru Granth that I read and believe in often came to my head over the last 21 years since I first met a guru in body. Looking at my inadequacies, I can say that I did need a guru in body to connect within and to walk consciously towards the discovery of Self.
Such is the joy and restfulness of having a guru that I haven’t stopped motivating others near and far about it. I have not mentioned the gurus’ names in this write-up because as of now I regard it as a personal matter. What they mean to me and countless other souls is more important than their names. And I say it clinically and confidently: The guru is sheer light–beyond that of the entrancing sun and moon.
(The author is a senior journalist, based in Delhi)
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