By the end of September, as Maharashtra entered the post-monsoon season, the rain started to let up. Thanks to the change in my seva assignment, and skipping the evening chant, I was getting to bed earlier and waking up later, and I didn’t feel exhausted all the time. Even though I was still lonely and homesick sometimes, I had gotten used to my simple routine in Ravipur. The only thing I missed about the Birchwood Falls ashram were the regular evening programs with Baba. Although Baba held darshan in the courtyard almost every day, he had only given a handful...
The next morning, I found it impossible to meditate. I couldn’t stop thinking about the secret ritual in the guru’s house I’d seen the night before. Why does Baba lavish those girls with so much attention? Why not me? During breakfast I considered asking Rohini, Sita, or even Swami Akhandananda if they knew anything about the chant, but decided against it. I didn’t want anyone to think I was nosy. My afternoon seva finished early that day, so I managed to get to the courtyard before darshan had started, before all the spots near Baba’s throne were taken. One of...
Ganesh and his parents stopped me on my way to the dish room. “Happy birthday, Deependra uncle!” “I can’t believe you remembered! Thank you!” I was glad that somebody knew what day it was. I hadn’t heard from anyone in my family for almost three months, and they had obviously forgotten my birthday. It hurt. Then I remembered that this boy and my other Raja Yoga brothers and sisters were all the family I needed. “You are how old only?” asked the boy’s father. “Nineteen.” Ganesh’s parents smiled and wiggled their heads approvingly. His dad reached for my hand and...
At four the next morning, the chant was still going strong, even though there were only a handful of ashramites and musicians left in the hall. The door to the meditation cave was locked, and a handwritten sign was taped to the door: CLOSED UNTIL AFTER THE SAPTAH. BABA SAYS EVERYONE SHOULD GO TO THE CHANT. Obeying the guru’s command, I went directly to the hall and chanted with those already there. Within a few minutes, many others joined us. At five-thirty there was no break for the Guru Gita. Later at seva, Rohini confirmed what I had suspected: “All...
“Turn it off! Turn it off!” In the black depths of sleep, the angry voice of my roommate and the persistent whine of my alarm reached me. I forced my eyes open and slapped the off button, knocking the clock to the floor. “Sorry, Claus,” I said, rolling over to face his side of the room. But there was no answer. He was already asleep. Dragging myself out of bed, I threw on one of my new Fred Perry polo shirts and a pair of khaki slacks. I skipped breakfast in the dining hall and hurried to the entrance of...
BABA, SURESH, AND THE rest of the innermost circle would fly to New Delhi, where the guru would meet local devotees to lay the cornerstone of a new Raja Yoga ashram. Everyone else was setting off by train a day earlier, and would arrive in Delhi in time for the ceremony. From Delhi, we would continue to the holy city of Haridwar, about a hundred and fifty miles north of the Indian capital. From the moment we found our first-class cabin on the train, Arjuna Weinberg complained about how jet-lagged he was and how little sleep he had gotten since...
GOD WAS SHORTER THAN I thought he’d be. Even though it was quite a warm day for the end of March, he was bundled up as if he were on a visit to the North Pole. Over his orange silks he wore a bulky, bright red down jacket. His head was covered by a knitted, orange- woolen ski hat, and around his neck was a matching scarf. He was followed out of the limo by the siblings, Suresh and Anjali. The chant reached a crescendo. Baba Rudrananda entered the building, flanked by his two young Indian disciples. With a wave...
For me, it is not plot that is compelling, it is good writing, and Robert Schneider’s novel, The Guru’s Touch, is a beautifully crafted story. It is in many ways a page-turner, which is not to say that it is an “easy read” or that it lacks depth. Rather, it is a story in which the characters come to matter greatly to the reader, and the reader wants to know more. But characters come to matter only because of the writing with which they are created. The reader must marvel at Schneider’s writing. I found myself re-reading passages asking myself,...
“Robert Schneider has written a fascinating tale of a young man’s quest for enlightenment in the ashram of an Indian guru, revered as a saint by his thousands of followers in the West. This compelling tale of spiritual seduction and betrayal, of ecstasy and trauma, is riveting, surprising, and most importantly, deeply authentic. If you were enchanted by the mystical mystery of the ashram in Eat, Pray, Love, this is the book that describes the other side of such groups – the corrupt, abusive world of the inner circle of a powerful, charismatic, traumatizing narcissist guru. This is the story of...
