All posts filed under: Mysticism

Arrival of the ancient mountains

In the night a train came. In it was an engine sleeping above Maharaj. So loud was his snore that I started going from bed to bed but to only kept get up enquiry after enquiry. In the morning as the sun rose, Aravalis were seen passing. Winters seemed gone, the moment I poured ground water on my head at four in the morning in February. A mountain starts from behind the ashram. And holds in him a panther they call Jacky. Jacky is popular and so much that he has come in the premises for if the cows go munching in the night. Me and Maharaj went to the Hinglaj temple and sang songs for two hours after we had food. I saw mangla while coming down and went near her to comb her stomach. During that time I learnt few new things about shukra and shiva, Shani and Vikramaditya. There is one Banayan, one neem, a library and enough blankets under the open sky. Rathore’s Kuladevi is Mata Nageahwari. Lights are out but …

Arrival of Maharaj

Threads of cotton. Some new event had to happen. A long day in motion. Paris. Not patparganj but Indirapuram came. Maharaj wore mehroon clothes and did not open his eyes till the time food arrived. He said nothing. He asked nothing. He saw nothing. He just sat with his eyes closed. But the moment food arrived he started singing the songs of Krishna. It was an auspicious day. Mother was waiting. For moon. She will eat but then she will be looking at the stars first. Instead Rain came. And I left home for many days to come.

In the land of Snakes

Twenty six days ago and three hundred fifty kilometers north I Moon I reached Aldona late in the night. It was Purnima, the full moon of Holi. Vishwan was away, gone to a border village, tsar. A place somewhere in the middle of the jungle at the border of Goa and Maharashtra. But I had no idea of that then, I was waiting. I sat downstairs at the bar. Grandmother was pouring feny to a local. She told me about Vishwan smoking too much. The room was lit with two cyan bulbs. He arrived. We kept my backpack at his place. He lit his cigarette. We sat. His hair had grown and white; beard thickened and black. Soon, we were off, feeling the dense wind of the leaving winter, scooting through the western ghats in the night going towards the moon. We entered the fair. Vishwan parked the vehicle somewhere outside and we started walking away from the lights towards the jungle. It was late. But it wasn’t dark. The night seemed to have dissolved with …