Part 6: Rescued By Bombay Achan

I woke up early in the morning (early by my lax holiday standard, not the stringent Amritapuri standard) around 6.30am, feeling fine and rested. My sleep had been deep and uninterrupted, a minor surprise given that the physical conditions were less than sublime. Actually, I ought to amend that. Contrary to the impression I may have lent so far, the conditions, for sleep at least, were not all that bad. I forgot to mention earlier that there was a ceiling fan in the room which worked. However, the night was cool, so I only had to run it at a very slow speed.

More importantly, I was spared an attack by the Amritapuri Air Force (mosquitoes!). Amma's grace? Possible, but in this case I thought it likely that Amma's grace was working more at the back-end than the front-end of the phenomenon. The more classical explanation, suggested by my years spent battling mosquitoes in Kerala, was that these aviators, unlike those currently (this was at the time of the second Iraq war) poised over the Persian Gulf who are capable of working round the clock, tend to Shock and Awe at specific times of day/night (6am, 6pm and midnight being the usual timings when attacks are launched). Oops! Did I make an inadvertent political comment there? Sorry.

On second thoughts, I must censure myself more severely. That was a poor joke. I should probably have erased it but decided to let it stand as a monument to my own crassness. It is never a good thing to find humour, even peripherally as I did just now, in suffering. One must always sympathize with the sufferings of others. One is permitted to laugh at one's own sufferings, but who has the stomach for that? Not me for sure; everytime life has walloped me, I have found my tail between my legs.

Coming back to my non-story, the trials of the night were now a faint memory. I was upbeat enough to actually use the much detested toilet. After a bath, I stepped out to inspect the world. I made my way, once again, to the accommodation office. This time, the person on duty was an elderly man addressed by all as Achan (the Malayalam term for father, used in a general way by nearly all ashram residents, to respectfully address old people ; having never come across this practice anywhere else before, I found it quaint). I briefly explained my situation to him and sought his help. He was extremely helpful and sorted out my problem in no time.

He explained that the one-room apartment which I had heard about, and wished to stay in, was usually reserved for foreign passport holders or families - be they Indian or foreign. I guessed that foreign residents holding Indian passports such as I, who come visiting sans family fell between the cracks; either there were not enough people in this category or, more likely, such members as did exist, were less demanding (and therefore better sadhaks) than I was. Now here was a commentary on my year and half of carefully cultivated austerity (turning vegetarian etc.): It didn't amount to a thing! I had flunked the exam right then.

This Achan invited me to bring my luggage down from my room and park in his office until the Western acco office opened at 11am. He would make an exceptional recommendation and have them allot me an apartment. Whew! I gratefully accepted his offer of assistance and returned to his office with my luggage in tow. When I had settled myself in his office, I chatted with him when he was not serving any devotees at the counter. He made a lot of sympathetic noises about my predicament, and went out of his way to make me feel good, but in my heart I was ashamed that I had taken the soft option, sought and obtained privilege.

Even at that early stage, before I had interacted with other ashramites and come to appreciate the rigours of the monastic life, I sensed that his empathy was a product of pure compassion; it could not have been an objective position, as my so-called suffering was next to nothing, compared to what the brahmacharis and brahmacharinis (male and female renunciates, respectively) undergo on a 24/7/52 basis. I felt humbled and doubly grateful at being granted consideration that I did not really deserve. Further conversation revealed that Achan had been with Amma for 18+ years. It was now clear to me that the compassion and power of accommodation that he manifested (and I was privileged to observe) did not merely arise because he was sitting in the Accommodation Office but was a function of his long exposure to the mother lode of compassion - Amma.

Om Amriteshwaryai Namah