← In the Vision of GodHis autobiography, book two

CHAPTER XVIII

Towards Banda – Banda

(i) The Water – Nectar of Pure Love

Ramdas had no idea of any destination and did not care which way he walked. He found himself again in Karvi by evening. Early next morning he was proceeding along the railway lines, treading on the bed of sharp-edged granite bits near the rails. On covering a mile or thereabouts, he came to a level crossing where the railway gate-keeper seeing him, said in a sharp voice:

“What is the matter with you? Are you mad? Don’t you feel that you are walking on sharp-pointed stones?” Pointing to a road, he added: “Take to that; the road goes straight to Banda.”

Following the gate-keeper’s suggestion, he moved on to the road and continued his journey. At noon he reached a small village, having on the roadside a few shops. A shop-keeper invited him to his shop. He got in and sat down on a mat. The first thing his eyes fell on, as he entered, was a framed picture of Kali on the wall, decorated with a flower garland. A number of customers were seated in front of him, sipping a clear, transparent liquid from small tin cups. The strong odour was suggestive of liquor. So he was in a liquor shop! It dealt also in ganja, for on another side a man having purchased the stuff was preparing a smoke.

The shop-keeper also prepared a chilam of ganja, and lighting it, offered it to Ramdas. It was taken for granted every sadhu smoked ganja! He was not used to chilam or the country pipe. He apprised the dealer of the fact and begged to be excused.

“I will teach you how to manipulate the chilam,” he said in a kind tone. In a trice Ramdas was trained. He had a few puffs at the pipe.

An hour later, the kind shop-keeper provided him with a meal. At about three o’clock he left the village and continued the journey. At dusk he gained a small hamlet. On the roadside, below the trees, was an enclosure made of high stone benches. He got a perch upon one of them.

Usually one meal a day sufficed him. He had no craving for food in the night. But today he had a distinct feeling of hunger. The ganja smoke, although it did not affect him in any other way, created this feeling. He spoke of it. To whom could he do so but to Ram?

Five minutes had not elapsed when a lad of about fourteen ran towards him and, leaping on the slab on which he was sitting, drew close to him, and said:

“I want to give you a meal. What would you have?”

“Rice and milk,” Ramdas replied.

Ramdas was not surprised at his offer. His life had been replete with a series of such surprises. Ram’s nursing hand was visible to him everywhere. The lad disappeared and returned two hours later. He escorted Ramdas to his cottage, and his kind mother served him with rice and milk. On finishing the meal he regained the seat on the stone slab.

Night passed. Next day he continued his journey. It was midday. The still air was burning hot. He went bare-footed and bare-headed. For him suffering was joy. His supreme indifference to physical comforts had transformed every emotion of his into ecstasy. Thus bathing in the burning glory of the sun he walked on. Now a passing cartman accosted him:

“Maharaj, the sun is hot. On your left, a furlong away in the fields, there is a small ashram of sadhu Ramdasji. Go there.”

Ramdas, turning to the direction pointed by the cartman, made for the ashram. Here he met a very old sadhu. He was, kind and affable. Ramdas had a bath at the well, a simple meal and rest for an hour on a shaky bench. Again he marched on. At sunset he found himself in the midst of a jungle. He always felt a peculiar feeling of exaltation when he was alone in the jungles at night. He repaired to a place beneath a large tree for spending the night. He laid himself down on the rough ground. In less than five minutes, he had a shower of bird’s droppings from the branches of the tree. Then he moved into the open and reclined on the soft grass.

The moon was up. Its cool rays illumined the forest. The light filtering through the leaves and branches of the trees formed on the ground below beautiful spangled designs, and the forest seemed as if it were covered with a multi-patterned carpet. The air was cool and a soft breeze was blowing. The silence of the night was broken now and then by the flapping of the huge bats that flew from tree to tree and the distant hoots of owls who were holding their nocturnal discourses. The night passed in wakefulness and bliss.

Next day, again at midday, he was stopped on the road by another cartman who directed him to a temple close by. He said that Ramdas would do well to have the darshan of a sadhu named Kamtanath who resided in the temple. The time was about one o’clock, afternoon. The temple was about fifty yards from the road. He entered the temple. Everything was still within. There was none inside except a sadhu snoring on a cot. He quietly took a seat, a little away from the sadhu. The sadhu awoke with a start and his eyes fell on Ramdas. Beckoning Ramdas towards him, he rubbed off with his cloth the perspiration streaming down Ramdas’ face and arms.

“I have no food to offer you,” he said with a smiling face, “you have to be content now with mere water. In the night you shall have a good meal.”

Ramdas laughed and replied:

“Mere water will do, Maharaj.”

“Go and have your bath,” he said next.

Ramdas finished his bath at the well and returned. The sadhu then, taking him by the arm, led him towards the main room of the temple where gaudily decorated images of God were kept. Then leading him to the narrow passage, he made him sit on a mat. Going into an inner room he brought a bowl of dal and a thick roti. Sitting down beside Ramdas he mixed the roti in the dal curry and suddenly thrust a lump of it into his mouth. Ram, indeed, has his own unique ways of feeding Ramdas! As he swallowed, he forced lumps of food into his mouth one after another, until he was overfilled. Coming out they sat on the cot, his arm round Ramdas’ neck. He was simply gushing with love.

“You shall stay here for some days. Won’t you?” he asked.

“No, Maharaj, Ramdas is starting presently,” answered Ramdas in an appealing tone.

“I am not allowing you to go. I want you to be with me for at least four or five days,” he said compressing his lips.

To argue with him seemed to be useless. So Ramdas remained silent.

“You see the sun is still hot; have a nap.” he said, and lying at full length on the cot fell asleep.

Ramdas waited for some minutes and, finding that the sadhu had fallen asleep, slowly got up and walked out of the temple on tiptoe – as he did at the Pilikoti ashram. As soon as he came out on the bypath, he ran at full speed until he gained the main road. A few miles ahead he came across a bullock-cart. At the sight of him a man jumped out of the cart and drawing near him pleaded:

“Maharaj, do take a seat in my cart. I cannot bear to see you walking on the burning ground in the hot sun.”

Ramdas told him that he was on his way to Banda and his course lay in the opposite direction.

“Then, here, please take this money; it is only one anna and a half – the railway fare from a station just a few yards from here to Banda. A train is due in a few minutes. Do catch it.” He forced the coins on Ramdas.

Ramdas proceeded to the small station. On enquiry he was told that the fare was two annas. He came out of the station and continued his travel on foot. Before sunset he reached the outskirts of Banda. Here a woman on the roadside had, beneath a tree, a small thatched hut in which she stored drinking water in big earthen pots. She freely distributed the water to thirsty travellers who happened to pass that way.

When she saw Ramdas, she called out: “Mahatmaji, Mahatmaji, come here; have some rest in my humble shed.”

He responded to her call.

The kind mother made him sit on a bench and washed his feet and legs up to the knee with cool water from the pots. He also drank the water she offered. It was the nectar of pure love!

(ii) The Militant Sadhu

Ramdas was passing through the crowded streets of Banda, when a merchant from his shop called him and said:

“Maharaj, only a short distance from the town, in a secluded place, resides a sadhu by name Vishuddhanand. The place is called Budh Ram Kuva. He is a pure saint, go to him.” He pointed the way through a by-lane.

Ramdas walked in the direction indicated by the merchant, but as he proceeded, in the network of streets, he lost the way. He asked a passerby who said that he would escort Ramdas to the spot. Ramdas followed him. They came to a temple of Mahadev at the foot of a hill, and passing through a high porch ascended the hill. They had to climb a few yards on all fours and come to a flat surface in front of a large shallow cave. A number of people were sitting on the ground. A sadhu, a young man in kaupin, was standing inspecting the construction of dhuni or fire-pit at the mouth of the cave.

Seeing Ramdas he offered an empty gunny bag for a seat, on which he sat. Now the sadhu’s attention was drawn to a man in the assembly. Flying into a temper he roundly abused the man in coarse language. Ramdas enquired of the escort if the angry sadhu was Vishuddhanand.

“No,” he replied, “this is Balak Ram Paramhams. Vishuddhanand stays about a mile away from here.”

“Can you take Ramdas to him?” Ramdas asked.

“Very well,” he answered.

The latter part of this dialogue reached the ears of the irate sadhu. It tended only to fan the flame. He now emptied the vials of his wrath on Ramdas’ escort.

“What? – you are going to take the sadhu away. Get away from here, you fool; leave this instant.” and he raised his right leg towards him for a kick. The frightened escort ran down the hill and disappeared.

“Maharaj,” the sadhu said turning to Ramdas, “do remain here; I shall see that all your wants are met.”

Ramdas submitted, but made him understand that his wants were few and that he would prefer to live there on mere milk diet. A merchant named Seth Moolchand furnished the sadhu with food twice a day. A small boy was employed for fetching the meals. Night came on; the crowd dispersed. About an hour later, the boy turned up with the meal as usual. The sadhu had another guest who now issued from a hole on the left side of the large open cave.

“Tapaswiji, hurry on; dinner has arrived,” said the sadhu, Balak Ram.

Tapaswiji was a man of about thirty-five with a stout and well-built body, besmeared with a thick layer of ashes. He had a stout coir rope round his waist and wore only a kaupin. His matted hair was coiled up into a crown on his head. He held in one hand a yogadanda or arms-rester like a cross, and in the other a japamala of rudraksha beads.

They sat down for the meal and asked Ramdas to join them. He excused himself. Balak Ram tried to persuade the boy to fetch some milk for Ramdas. He demurred and said that he did not know where to get milk from.

“Never mind,” put in Ramdas, “Ramdas is not hungry: he will be satisfied with a tumbler of water for the night.”

The meal over, the sadhus prepared ganja chilam and Balak Ram appealed to Ramdas to share with them a smoke. Here again he declined their offer with thanks. He was silent and watchful. The ganja intoxication made the sadhus drift into strange and irrelevant talks.

Ramdas stopped on the hill for about a fortnight and the short stay was crowded with thrilling and amusing incidents. The hill was called Bambeshwar Pahad. Except for a sprinkling of shrubs and two or three trees, the hill was arid and rocky. So there was scarcity of water on Bambeshwar Pahad. Water had to be carried up from the temple well down below.

Balak Ram Paramhams was a young man aged about thirty-two possessing a lithe and upright figure. His lower jaw and the compressed lips showed determination. His eyes were tender and his face was suffused with smiles when he was not in fits of temper, which would sweep over him as the raging tempests, only to be followed by calmness and a clear sky. At heart, Ramdas could discern, he was soft and compassionate. For lack of proper discipline and society he had a mind riotous and uncontrolled. He had a recoil from the unrealities of the world and his dispassion was admirable. The only method he employed to subdue the cravings of the mind was ganja smoking, but the stuff would only raise the very spirit of wrath in him. One predominant trait in him was a passion to serve saints. By such service alone, he firmly believed, one would attain liberation or moksha. His one message to all those who came to him was to use their wealth for the service of sadhus. His ambition was to make the hill a home of sadhus and for himself to be their servant, and the worldly people the suppliers of the necessaries for such service.

He was militant in his ways with the visitors, and with the whip of his tongue he would lash them. A specimen of the manner in which he talked to them will be related here. One day, it appears, he sent for the Deputy Collector of the district who was in Banda at the time. He was a Hindu. The poor officer, having a religious turn of mind, not knowing what was in store for him, obeyed the call of the mahatma. He came to see Balak Ram at the close of his office, in his usual office dress. The officer bowed to Balak Ram and sat down.

Now Balak Ram, taking a full survey of the man in front of him, rolled out his tongue to lubricate it. He was gifted with eloquence combined with vehemence so that he could reduce his adversary to pulp.

“Ha, ha,” he began derisively, “what a fine pheta you do wear! – a well-ironed long coat, clean white trousers, superior English boots and a fashionable cane into the bargain. Luxurious dandy that you are! How much precious money are you wasting on these foppish things? You think you are very clever, because you have these adornments. Fool, do you still believe in wallowing in dirt like the filthy worm, toiling and moiling from morn to eve to procure these baubles and steep yourself in the enjoyment of selfish and sinful desires?”

“Beware,” he continued: “death like a huge cobra is ever stalking behind you, waiting at any moment to swallow you up. Have some thought about what you are here for. The only way for you, mud-worms, to attain salvation is service of the saints. If you don’t do this, you are done for. If you have any money about you, shell it out.”

The dazed and perplexed officer said that he would send some money on reaching home, and mumbling some excuse sneaked away. The money never came. Thereafter Balak Ram sent for him half a dozen times. The officer did not, of course, turn up!

(iii) The Way to Peace

School boys have a fascination for sadhus and mahatmas. They can have good fun in their company. They watch and then imitate the curious antics of the sadhu-world. The whims, caprices and eccentricities of this race of religious mendicants are for ever a matter for close observation on the part of the youngsters. Because here they witness a delectable show without payment of any fee. Not so with Balak Ram. No doubt he had a great love for boys, but they had to pay dearly for both the show and the love he bore for them. When the school hours were over, a company of boys would crawl up the Bambeshwar hill. Now Balak Ram had with him a dozen well-sized earthen water pots handy.

“Sonnies, O dears,” he would call them. He had the trick of forming his thin lips into the shape of a flattened funnel to show his endearment. “Will you not get me some water from the well below? Here are the pots, one each – clever fellows – you can do it in a twinkling; yes, dears.”

Such were his insinuating and coaxing ways! Once Ramdas was the spectator of an incident like this. A batch of six boys was egged on to fetch the water and were provided with pots. Of this batch two boys could alone come up safe with the pots, while the others carried with them either the broken necks or bottoms of the pots. At the loss of four pots in one experiment Balak Ram’s monkey was up. His smiles disappeared and, looking sternly at the four delinquents, he bellowed forth:

“Do you think – you rogues – that the pots belonged to your grandfathers! I paid hard cash for them. You broke them, careless imps! Go immediately to your parents and get me one anna and a half each. Run away, quick. You must be back with money by nightfall.”

The boys skulked away never to show their faces again! Another day a fresh batch came and the same story was repeated.

Balak Ram was worrying for some days over a certain overseer who had yielded up a couple of rupees at his first onslaught of abuse, just as in India a milch buffalo does not yield milk unless beaten on the back by the stalk of the plantain tree. He was keen on giving a second trial to the overseer, but the overseer knew better. Every messenger sent by Balak Ram returned to report that he was not to be found. So far as Balak Ram was concerned, the Deputy Collector had proved an utter failure – no scent of him again!

One night Ramdas asked him why he treated the visitors with harsh abuse, and he replied with a sniff of contempt:

“You see, sweet words and arguments are not for donkeys. They need a stout stick to make them work. So with these selfish and ignorance-ridden folk. I mean well of them; their hide needs hammer blows to awaken them.”

“You are mistaken,” Ramdas then told him, “there is no power on earth greater than love. By mildness and gentleness you can conquer the world. You are out as a sadhu to know God. God is love and peace. An abusive tongue and a mind filled with wrath are signs of ignorance. Until love, compassion and forgiveness dwell in your heart and perfect peace in your mind, you cannot realise God.”

“Oh! how your words heal me; make me a better man,” he cried out passionately. “I know I am full of defects. I wanted you to remain with me only for this reason. I wish earnestly to be benefited by your society.”

Now the Tapaswiji drew his attention to the fresh-lit chilam of ganja. The conversation broke off.

Ramdas made him understand on several occasions, when he was using harsh language with the visitors, that he would prefer bidding him goodbye to remaining with him to hear his abuse. He was averse to losing Ramdas. He loved and adored him. Many a time he curbed his tongue lest Ramdas should slip away from him.

Things nearly approached a climax one night. Balak Ram had kept a rupee in some crevice within the small cave. That afternoon he looked for the coin but could not find it. The boy, the food carrier, used to sweep the floor of the cave. Suspicion fell on him. The boy was absent. Balak Ram fumed with rage.

“Let the boy come. I shall take proper account of him – the blackguard!” he rang out.

As usual, at about eight o’clock, the boy came with the night meal. The moment he lowered to the floor the vessel of food, Balak Ram caught hold of the boy’s arm in a firm grip and shouted:

“You thief, where is my rupee?” Looking at Balak Ram’s fiery eyes and menacing tone, the boy trembled.

“I do not know, I have not taken it,” replied he in a whining voice.

“Liar!” roared Balak Ram, “having committed the theft, you dare to tell a lie on top of it. You are not fit to live; if you are allowed to, you will turn into a regular budmash. I shall presently strangle you to death,” Suiting action to his words, with a murderous fury, he closed his fingers on the boy’s throat.

At once, Ramdas going forward told him: “Look here, Ram, Ramdas is off. He cannot any longer remain with you.” He suddenly jumped past a rock in order to go down the hill.

Balak Ram releasing his hold on the boy’s throat ran after Ramdas and falling at his feet said: “Forgive, forgive me; I forgot myself. I shall never harm the boy; do return.”

Ramdas returned. That night also he had a plain talk with him.

“You must control your temper, Ramji,” Ramdas said, “and not allow it to run amok as you did a little while ago. In your rage you would have killed the poor boy. You think you are trying to mend the ways of others while your own are not straight. Have you heard the saying: ‘Physician, heal thyself?’ This very appropriately applies to you. You are recklessly wounding the feelings of others by your vituperative speeches. No, you should not go on like this. People come to you to know the way of peace and what do you give them? – a shower of abuses. Infinite love dwells in your heart, but you are submerging it in a storm of unbridled passions.”

“Oh! do I give pain to people by my words? – how I wish I should not! I did not know I was such a tyrant. I mean always well. Oh! heartless wretch that I am!” he uttered with a deep touch of remorse, and covering his eyes with both hands wept bitterly. Then he pleaded: “Show me a way to control this insane mind. At times it burns like a furnace and my head seems to be splitting. Oh! show me some way.”

“For control of mind the best method is repetition of God’s Name,” advised Ramdas. “Keep the Name always on your tongue, talk little, have proper food. Above all, give up ganja smoking. This habit has been the ruin of you.”