← In the Vision of GodHis autobiography, book two

CHAPTER XVI

Chitrakut

(i) A Bania’s Renunciation

Ramkinkar expressed a wish that Ramdas had a companion to take care of him. Hearing this, a bania, who was then on the platform, coming forward said:

“I am also proceeding to Chitrakut. I shall be so happy to keep him company and serve him.”

Accordingly, side by side, the bania and Ramdas took seats in the train. The train steamed out of the station. The bania carried a kambal and a lota. He spread the kambal on the bench and making Ramdas lie on it, massaged his feet. While doing this service he opened his mind:

“Maharaj, I am disgusted with worldly life. I too would lead the life of a sadhu. I have turned my back on a life full of cares and sorrows. Consider me as your disciple and take me under your protection.”

“Ramji,” Ramdas replied, “there is nothing wrong with the world. It is your mind that is obsessed. So long as your mind is not intensely longing to tear up the veil of illusion that clouds the Truth within you, mere external renunciation is of no avail. It will only be a leap out of the frying pan into the fire. True happiness consists in our right attitude towards life and the world. Now right attitude depends on right vision. The vision comes through the realisation of Truth or God. Do not be deceived. You cannot have liberation and peace by simply turning your back upon the world. Know your mind well. Freedom and joy are within you. Conquest of lust, wrath and greed is the path. Don’t cling to Ramdas. He is no guru. He can only show you the path. The effort and struggle are your own. Be, therefore, the disciple of Truth.”

The bania’s mind appeared to have been preoccupied. Ramdas’ words did not elicit any reply nor did he evince any sign that he had comprehended them. The night passed. Early next morning the train reached the Chitrakut station. Alighting, Ramdas and the bania moved towards the hills of Chitrakut which lay about three miles from the station. On the way he had again a conversation with the Bania.

“Are you doing any sadhana, Ramji, for concentration of mind?” Ramdas asked.

“Why not?” he returned, “I am taking God’s Name sometimes.”

“Sometimes is not good,” Ramdas said, “you ought to repeat the Name ceaselessly, and keep up an unbroken flow of remembrance in your thoughts.”

“So far as that is concerned I am all right,” he cut short.

“Ramji, leave Ramdas alone. You live your own life, because he wanders alone,” Ramdas put in.

“No, no” he said with vehemence, “I am not giving you up.”

“The path Ramdas walks is beset with pains and dangers. He is fearless and has no dread of death. To follow him would mean for you so much discomfort and misery,” suggested Ramdas.

“I too am not afraid of anything. I can adapt myself to any life you choose to live. I am determined to cast my lot with you,” he spoke with great emphasis.

Ramdas had no alternative but to submit. So God willed. Now they reached the banks of the river Mandakini in the heart of the town. They came to a bathing ghat where Ramdas took his seat on a low, worn out table. The fit of vairagya that had seized the bania was at work. He removed his shirt and, calling a passing barber, squatted down on a stone step.

“Shave me clean,” he instructed the barber, “I am taking up sannyas.”

“You mistake me,” remonstrated the barber, “I am not prepared to bring down on my head the curses of your wife and children by helping you adopt sannyas.”

“Brother, why do you mind all that? Do as I ask you,” the bania pressed coaxingly. “I will give you my shirt and a watch, in addition to the usual shaving charges.”

The barber was firm. His fear of the curses outweighed all other considerations. He refused to yield to the temptation. He got up and was about to leave the spot when the bania clutched him by the arm and begged:

“Shave all the hair on my head and face except the eyebrows and a small tuft on the head. What do you say? You can have no objection now.”

At this the barber lowered his leather bag of shaving materials and sat down. He agreed to the compromise. In fifteen minutes the bania’s face and head, except the tuft in the middle of the latter, were cleared of all hair. He gave away to the barber the shirt and the watch and also some money. Now he turned to Ramdas anticipating a look of approbation from him. Ramdas could only be a cheerful spectator of the performance.

He had now left with him a greasy old cap, which he threw away, two dhotis and a small bag containing some money. On his finger was also a gold ring. One of the dhotis he presented to a beggar. All that he now possessed consisted of one dhoti, a gold ring, some money and a lota.

Bath over, he escorted Ramdas to a neighbouring sweetmeat shop where they had a tiffin of purees and milk. Then they sauntered along the bank of the river and came to a place called Phatakshila, where they saw nearly a dozen sadhus living in a hut close by the river. Resting for some time beneath a tree they retraced their steps to the town again by noon. The bania felt hungry. A recourse again to the sweetmeat shop satisfied the ravenous wolf within.

In the afternoon they went round the famous Kamtanath hill, on which it is said Sri Ramchandra made his abode with Sita for twelve years. In the evening they returned once more to the sweetmeat shop.

For the night Ramdas preferred to settle down beneath a tree and the bania slept beside him. The bania moved with him like his shadow. He was afraid that Ramdas might give him the slip at any moment. On rising next morning from the grassy bed, the bania felt that something was wrong with him.

“We shall go down to Karvi station,” he said to Ramdas, “it is only four miles from here, and be back by evening.”

It was not for Ramdas now to question why; his was to submit. After a visit to the fascinating tiffin shop they started. On the way, when they were walking through a narrow pass of a hillock, Ramdas had to follow the bania closely. Now a hissing noise and a low moan emanated from him. Ramdas jumped on one side and faced him. He was shedding tears.

“What is the matter?” inquired Ramdas.

Wiping away his tears with many a grief-laden hiccup, he said: “I feel so keenly for my wife and children. I ran away from them without their knowledge. They might be remembering me and living in agony over my absence. For myself I don’t mind. It is for them my heart goes out.” And he burst into tears.

“Ramji, why don’t you then return to them?” asked Ramdas.

“You see I have almost burnt my boats. Oh! the barber was right.” Now handling fondly the short pigtail on his head he continued. “Yes, the prospect is not after all so bad. I may yet go back to them.”

(ii) Failure of the Peace Mission

Thus they arrived at Karvi. The bania went directly to the courtyard of a small thatched house near the railway station. Both sat on a bench in the yard, a few steps from the entrance of the house. Two boys were playing in front of it. The bania made several signs to the boys who neither recognised nor heeded him. His transformed appearance was the reason for their non-recognition.

Then he called one of the boys and whispered into his ears: “Tell your mother a man wants to see her.”

The boy went in. Meanwhile, the bania confided to Ramdas the secret of his mission. He had come to his wife’s sister’s house. He wished to reveal himself to her so that through her he might find a means of reconciliation with his wife. It was evident that he had a quarrel with her which ended in his departure from his house with a threat that he would never darken its doorstep again.

The boy returned and unconcernedly commenced his play with his brother. How could a lady condescend to see a stranger inside her house? Again he drew towards the boy and told him in a low voice:

“Tell your mother that her sister Mami’s husband has come.”

The lad gaped with raised eyebrows at the face of the bania, and a smile lit up his chubby face. He again ran into the house and soon reappeared beckoning the bania to go in. With a happy face the bania now hastened to the house. Ramdas waited. About fifteen minutes – and the bania came out. He looked like a whipped dog. His bitter face told of the unpalatable stuff with which he was served by his sister-in-law! She must have given him a big slice of her mind. The burning lashes of her tongue had charred and wrinkled his face!

“Her tongue cuts – like a razor. Bah! a woman’s tongue!” he exclaimed knowingly. Then he added: “Maharaj, I have got it now. I am not fitted for a family life. A sadhu’s life has a charm for me. I will never return to my home, there to face another sister! No, never.” The resolution made, he continued: “Maharaj, let us be off from this undesirable place.”

It was now past midday. The wolf again sorely troubled the bania. He sought a sweetmeat shop and they had a light repast. In spite of his heart having been lacerated with conflicting emotions, his treatment of Ramdas was marked by undiminished respect and kindness. Ramdas could well understand that it was the Lord Himself playing the game. How perfect a player!

When night approached, they sought refuge in a dharmashala, but it was so fully crowded that there was no room for them. They came out. The moon was up in the heavens. Its cool and soft rays illumined the retiring world. It flooded the vast railway-yard with its genial effulgence. Ramdas went towards it followed by the bania, and crossing the gate they entered the yard. In the yard were scattered large slabs of stones. Ramdas took his seat on one of them, asking the bania to occupy another which lay by its side.

“This is a fine place to sleep in for the night,” Ramdas remarked.

The bania grunted as much as to say that he did not agree with him. He peered suspiciously into the dark spaces below the stones on all sides, but seeing that Ramdas had already laid himself down at full length on his slab, with another long drawn squeak, the bania also followed suit. Ramdas gazed on the bright moon above and the limitless blue space all around. He was charmed and absorbed. Suddenly, an unearthly yell issued from the bania. Ramdas sat up and looked at him. He was shouting out: “A serpent! a serpent!” He had stood up and was shaking his cloth, the only cloth, with feverish agitation.

“Maharaj, this place is infested with snakes. Let us go away from here,” he said.

Ramdas had observed that lizards had made the snug nooks below the stone slabs their home.

“There is no fear, Ramji. They are lizards, not snakes, under the stone. They are harmless,” Ramdas assured him.

“Oh!” he cried, “the thing, whatever it is, crawled on my legs. What a horrible sensation I got!”

“Never mind, sleep on; there need be no fear,” Ramdas said encouragingly.

Finding Ramdas was in no mood to leave the place, he coiled himself on the stone, covering his body fully from head to foot with the cloth. During the night he started in his sleep twice with a cry of fright; the cries were only the after-effects of the first alarm. The first shriek had terrified the poor lizards so much that they dared not come out of their lairs to touch one who could produce such a soul-racking sound!

The bania’s peace mission having utterly failed, the next day, they left Karvi again for Chitrakut. Bath in the river over, the favourite tiffin shop entertained them with its purees and milk. The day was hot. They rested for some time in the cool shade of a tree on the river bank. When the sun had descended half way down the heavens, Ramdas proposed that they should go up the hill of Hanumandhara and remain on it for the night.

(iii) Sadhuism Is Not a Joke

Ascending over a hundred stone steps uphill, they reached the place called Hanumandhara. Here a big jet of water was pouring down from a height of about fifty feet into a reservoir below, made of brick and mortar. There was also a small rest-house near the waterfall. The place is considered sacred because it is said to have been once occupied by Sri Ramchandra and Sita. From here an extensive view of the surrounding country can be had – vast plains, high hills covered with dense vegetation and the smooth running river, are all presented to the gaze of the spectator. Chitrakut is a land of sages and saints. Hundreds of sadhus are still doing penance in their small ashrams called kutis, scattered over and around the hills and the riversides.

From where they stood at the waterfall, Ramdas casting a glance upward, saw the mountain rise still higher. He was about to climb up when the bania suggested:

“Maharaj, there is a neat little rest-house here,” pointing to the building, “what if we spend the night there?”

Ramdas without reply, taking to a straggling path, went up, of course, followed by the bania. He now came upon a somewhat level piece of ground where stood two huts and an open shed. He entered one of the huts and found in it an image of black stone dressed in female robes, representing Sita. A sadhu was sitting near the image in order to collect the pice offered to the goddess by the pilgrims. It appears Sita was using the mandir as her kitchen, hence it goes by the name – Sita-rasuyee.

The other hut was locked up. The bania sat inside the open shed to rest his tired limbs. The hill was still higher up by a couple of hundred yards. The whole place was thickly covered with tall wild trees.

“Ramji,” Ramdas said to the bania, “this place is best suited for bhajan and so we shall stop here for the night.” He replied that the idea did not appeal to him and that the idea was simply preposterous or something to that effect. The sun had set and darkness was rapidly creeping on the world. The sadhu of Sita mandir came out and saw Ramdas seated on the root of a tree and the bania in the tiny shed.

“How, now,” the sadhu said, “what are you doing here? Don’t you see it is getting dark? – let us go down.”

“Ram wills that Ramdas should remain here for the night,” answered Ramdas.

“Madness,” he muttered, “this jungle is haunted by wild beasts and nobody is permitted to remain here in the open in the nights. The shut-up kuti belongs to my guru who has gone down to the city for riddhi siddhi. It is his order that none should be here in the night.”

“Ramdas obeys the command of Ram who says that he should not move from here,” Ramdas rejoined.

“Then, do as you like at your own risk,” the sadhu retorted. “But one thing,” he added, “don’t make use of that shed. You, you,” turning to the bania, “get out of the shed.” The bania came out.

With a last warning the sadhu left the place and went down-hill. About ten yards higher up from the shed, Ramdas saw a flat stone beneath a cluster of trees. Going up, he occupied it. No sooner had the sadhu gone out of sight than the bania got back to the seat in the shed. Darkness came on.

“Maharaj-ji, please do come to the shed,” the bania called.

“No, Ramji, this flat stone is large enough to accommodate two persons. So you may also come here,” answered Ramdas.

“This is a better place, Maharaj” he urged.

By now it became pitch dark. The bania cried out in terror: “O Maharaj, do come, I cannot remain here alone in this dreadful place.”

Ramdas abandoning the flat stone went up to him in the shed. With the advent of darkness cold had also set in. The shed, open on all sides, being supported on four bamboo poles, allowed freely the chill breezes to sweep into it. Ramdas sat up while the bania lay down to sleep. But where was sleep for him in that fearful place? He was shivering both from dread and cold. At midnight there was a rustling noise among the thickly strewn dry leaves beneath the trees. Hearing the noise, with a sharp cry the bania bounded into a sitting posture.

“Maharaj,” he whispered, “what is that noise?”

“It is nothing, Ramji,” consoled Ramdas, “it may be only mountain rats, sporting about.”

“For all that we know, it might be a wild animal or a cobra. I have heard that these jungles are inhabited by large sized cobras,” he spoke with deep concern.

“Give up your fears, Ramji, they may be rats,” assured Ramdas.

Again an hour later, a similar noise louder and closer was heard. This time the bania was thoroughly frightened, and clung to Ramdas as the scared young one of a monkey does its mother.

“What shall we do?” he cried.

“Repeat the Name of Ram,” Ramdas suggested, “you need not be afraid of anything when that powerful Name is on your lips. Do repeat it and keep calm.”

Thereafter, Ramnam worked on his lips with amazing continuity. Till the appearance of dawn he went on with the japa, and no more noises disturbed him. The day-break dispelled his fears. He lay down through utter exhaustion from want of sleep, and directly commenced to snore.

Ramdas got up from the place, and wandering in the jungle, came to the top of the hill. Through the morning mist he beheld the distant landscapes and the faint outlines of the turrets and domes of the temples of Chitrakut. The sight was enchanting and Ramdas stood still for some minutes under its magic spell. He roamed deeper into the forest where he discovered at places dry bones of animals scattered on the ground, the tell-tale signs of the work of wild beasts.

Remembering the bania he hastened to the spot where he had left him. But where was the bania? He had vanished. When Ramdas was looking for him, the sadhu who had come up inquired: “Whom are you seeking for? – the bania! When I was coming up I saw him running down as though pursued by a devil.” He added with a laugh: “After all he learnt that sadhuism is not a joke.”

The jungle called Ramdas back again and he rambled freely through it, till about eleven o ‘clock when he descended the hill and directed his steps towards the river.