Part 4: Tests For A Yogi

The reason for my mounting exasperation must be obvious, but embarrassment? Being recently clued into some of the essentials of the spiritual orientation - renunciation, frugality, humility and so on, I was not unaware that my role in the acco discussion was turning out to be far from exemplary. The way I saw it then, the unreasonable and insensitive attitude of that brahmachari was bringing out the worst in me, those parts of myself that I would have preferred to keep buried, at least for the duration of my stay in Amritapuri. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, I see it was all Amma's leela (play).

When I left home I had bragged to my family, and only half in jest, about how I was a sadhak (one who undertakes spiritual practice) and yogi (one who seeks union with infinity through disciplined self-control) unlike the rest of them who were all bhogis (materialists). I had talked about cleaning toilets and doing other menial work, in the spirit of selfless service that I had read so much about. At that juncture, locked into a losing argument with this seemingly uncooperative brahmachari, some of my lofty speech came back to haunt me, in the back of my mind. I gave up the battle and decided to accept whatever I was offered. He handed over a set of keys and pointed me in the general direction of my room. After a little bit of to-and-froing, I managed to find the room. It was in the building behind the new auditorium - where the Devi Bhavas (audiences with Mother in Her Goddess aspect) are held, near the front entrance to the ashram. I opened the door and stepped inside the room. I flipped the light switch on but there was no light. The room had a window which was open and I could see with the aid of the moonlight that was shining through.

There appeared to be a toilet attached to my room, so I walked over and took a look. There was a light in there which worked, so I switched it on. The toilet cum bathroom was an absolute horror. At least, it seemed so for someone with my background. You see, I am a bit of a hygiene freak. For a good part of my life, I managed to avoid ever using any public toilet facility. It is only in recent years, that I have managed to overcome this aversion, to a certain extent. That is the way my mother brought me up, and that is the way I continue to be, for the most part. There was no wash basin, only a tap mounted very low, just above the floor. Horror of horrors, I would have to do all my washing with the water from this tap, with a close-up view of an ugly, open drain right next to it. The commode was as unclean as the rest of the bathroom, which incidentally was just big enough for me to stand in. Fortunately the flush was working, and there did not seem to be any organic waste (crap) in the toilet. The toilet had a second door to the adjoining room. It was latched from the other side, but I latched it shut from my side as well for good measure. The last thing I needed was for someone to walk in on my ignominy.

I left the toilet light on and the door ajar, so I could inspect the room using the light. What I saw made my heart sink. The floor was littered. There was sand all over the floor, a huge ant-hill or termite mound in one corner, and some sundry waste (paper and rags) here and there. It looked like the room had been in use as a godown or storehouse for construction material. I recalled seeing just such a room where sacks of cement were stored, very near the gate on my way up, and figured that my room had been used for a similar purpose, prior to my arrival.

I went through a serious crisis of faith right then. Something like the dark night of the soul described in Christian literature! I felt weak, and wanted to sit down, and think through things, about what I should do next. There was no furniture at all in the room and I could not even sit on the floor without cleaning it up. At that point, I remembered that I had picked up a newspaper at the airport, so I opened my bag and fished it out. I spread a sheet on the floor and sat on it. I held my head in my hands, and in great agony, began to absorb the situation. My first reaction was to call off the whole darshan program and run far, far away from Amritapuri. Maybe my folks were right when they said I did not have the stomach for real sadhana (austerity). Yes, that was it, I should admit defeat, cut my losses and run. After all, I was a born loser, and this episode was not going to be a radical departure from the main trend in my life.

I experienced a range of emotions. I wondered whether Amma knew of my situation at that exact moment. Of course she did. She had to. Otherwise what was the whole point of my taking to Her? I alternated variously through remonstrance, despair and hurt before finally settling on surrender. The situation was here and it was incumbent on me to do what I could. It was time to think, to strategize. The unusual thing was, even as I went through massive doubt, I felt the presence of Amma, in a way that is hard to describe. I felt sure that She was completely awake, completely present, and right there with me, though clearly not in any corporeal form.

As I sat there resolving to leave at first light, I realized I had two options. I could either spend the night sitting up and thereby avoid the unpleasant task of cleaning up, or I could clean up and try to make myself comfortable and try to catch some sleep. My first inclination was to sit tight and wait for the morning to stage my great escape. Then I remembered I had newspaper, a towel and soap. I could use the paper to sweep the room and also to lie down on, in lieu of a mattress. The soap and the towel would be enough for me to freshen up after the room-cleaning job.

My spirits lifted a little, the courage flowed back into my system. My brain decided in favour of cleaning up. When that decision was taken, I immediately realized that it would be a waste to make all the effort to clean up the room and still give up on the rest of the program. Although I had given up the battle for Western acco with the brahmachari in the office, I still intended to make another effort to try for better quarters in the morning, something superior to what I had, even if not approaching Western standards. But for now, I would have to proceed on the assumption that my efforts would not bear fruit, that any other officials I might talk to, would be as hard on me as this brahmachari had been.

Once I decided to clean up, it seemed logical to stick it out a little longer, if I had to derive some return on my investment (of effort). My strength increased and I resolved to stick to my original program. I would survive somehow, I told myself. I would certainly make an effort to get my room changed, but if that failed, I would still be able to survive. I was pretty sure there would be some kind of shop on the campus, where I could purchase whatever I needed - some cleaning equipment, a bucket, sheets and whatever else.

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah