Part 3: A Sullen Welcome

The roads began to get narrower and the ride became more bumpy. I guessed that we were approaching Amritapuri. My American companion had woken up from his nap by now, seemingly refreshed. He immediately entered into a discussion with me on how we should divide the cab fare between ourselves. I had called up the ashram office from overseas and booked a vehicle to ferry me to the ashram, and at that time they had indicated that I was to pay 1200 Indian rupees or so for the service. Since that was what I had contracted over the telephone, I was prepared to pay that amount, without making a big deal out of the fact that I had to share the cab with another person. Since in my view, the charge was not exorbitant, the amount was small and it was after all going to charity of one kind or another, I was prepared to pony up the full share.

However my American friend was very keen to work out some kind of sharing arrangement so that the burden could be reduced, possibly by half. Knowing that my friend's financial condition was significantly inferior to my own, I sympathized with his attempts to derive some economy from the transaction, but I was also not comfortable with the ethical implications of striking a private arrangement, that would end up depriving the ashram of a legitimate due. I did not wish to start my visit to Amma on such a note of dubious economy. It seemed clear to me that our dharmas (duties) in this matter were different, since our conditions were different. So I suggested that he pay whatever he was comfortable with, but indicated that I did not intend to haggle. Anyway, it turned out that the money had to be paid at the ashram office, and not to the driver, so an adjournment was forced on us.

Our taxi stopped outside the front gate and we made our way inside on foot. It had been raining, not right then but before, and I carefully negotiated the puddles with my luggage. The American had nothing to carry except his pillow and blanket and he bounded off, like a rabbit, after saying good-bye. Before leaving, he pointed out the building where he was staying, and told me that was the building where most of the visitors from outside India were usually housed. I had made enquiries before my departure and had been told that the Western Acco was the thing to take.

It was way past midnight and there did not seem to be too many people about. I asked someone for directions to the office and was pointed one way. I lugged my bag and walked that way, only to be redirected elsewhere. The fun of the taxi ride had clearly ended. Delicately stepping over puddles, while carrying heavy luggage in the middle of the night, was not my favourite thing to do, obviously. Eventually I found the acco office, at the foot of the temple. There did not seem to be anyone on duty there. I was starting to get a little concerned. Was nobody expecting me here? If they sent a cab to pick me up, surely they should have someone at the office to process my accomodation? No such luck. This was no hotel, it was becoming clear.

I knocked on the wooden door of the office and after a while, a brahmachari (disciple) opened the door. He was bearded (I did not know then that all the brahmacharis looked like that) and rather sullen, having apparently woken up from sleep. I explained who I was and where I had come from, and made it a point to stress that I wanted the Western accommodation, and that money was no object. He asked me what passport I held, and I had to tell him that it was Indian but I stressed that I was a permanent resident of country X, in the expectation that I would be granted the acco normally given to foreign visitors. He turned a little hostile and began to interrogate me, "The Western acco is for Westerners. Are you a Westerner?" I had to say no. I tried to explain that while I still held an Indian passport, I had been living outside India for many years, but my explanations did not appear to be cutting much ice with him. I was starting to get exasperated and also embarrassed. I thought to myself, "Why is my precise status in my country of domicile so important to this matter? If I am willing to pay, why can't I have what I want?"

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah