“Do you have your passport with you?” Gajendra asked. He was sitting behind the desk that once belonged to Alan. I was suddenly seized by anxiety. I didn’t have a passport. I didn’t even know how to get one.
Gajendra narrowed his eyes. “You do have a valid passport, don’t you?”
I confessed that I didn’t.
“Better get one quick!” he growled. “You’ll need time to apply for a visa.”
I didn’t care for Gajendra, and I was a little afraid of him. I missed Alan. I had looked up to him. He had been on track to become a swami, so I was shocked when one day I heard that he had “left and was never coming back.” When I asked around about him nobody could—or would—tell me why.
Gajendra wrote down an address in Manhattan where I could apply for a passport in person. He said that I shouldn’t waste any time, because the Indian government was slow to process entry visas. “You’ll need to apply for entry visa,” he said sharply. “It’ll allow you to stay in India with Baba for up to a year. You only have to worry about getting the passport, okay? The ashram will take care of your visa and make all your travel arrangements. Got it?”
I nodded.
“I’ll be giving you a bill for the ticket and the visa processing fee, too. You understand that, right, kid?”
I nodded again.
After the meeting with Gajendra, I called Melanie to ask her to send me my birth certificate. The need to involve my sister in my plans and the day trip I’d have to make to the Passport Agency in Manhattan stressed me out. I didn’t want to interact with my family anymore. I didn’t want to have anything to do with the world. I longed for the day when I’d be a swami and no longer have to engage in such mundane activities.
My stress about Melanie’s reaction to my decision to go to India turned out to be needless. She agreed to send my birth certificate right away, and I got it in the mail a couple of days later. Predictably, she was against the trip, but conceded that I was now legally an adult and she had no right to stop me.
Ordinarily, the ashram shuttle was only available to Baba’s personal staff or year-round ashram residents. But Gajendra said I could use it, since Baba had specifically invited me to travel back to India with him. I was dropped off with the other passengers in front of the Manhattan ashram, a converted brownstone in Greenwich Village. Jeremy had explained in detail how to find my way to the passport agency by subway, but I was nervous I’d somehow get on the wrong train and end up somewhere in Brooklyn. I decided to take a taxi instead. Why not? I told myself. I’m rich. I can afford it.
After applying for my passport, I consulted the information pamphlet that Gajendra had given me for first-time visitors to the Indian ashram. My next stop was a tropical disease center, where I could get a gamma globulin shot. After that, I went in search of a flashlight, insect repellent, toilet paper, and Birkenstock sandals, all of which were listed in the pamphlet. I was unable to figure out where to buy the Birkenstocks, but Jeremy agreed to meet me an hour earlier than planned at Bloomingdale’s in Midtown, where we found them easily. Later we met up with Carrie at a vegetarian restaurant called Serendipity Three.
My brother and his wife had been up to Birchwood Falls a handful of times since Baba’s arrival. But it seemed that whenever they came, my heavy seva schedule made it impossible for me to see them for more than a few minutes at a time. I was glad to be able to spend time with them over dinner, without the pressure of having to rush off to work. I told them I’d be going to live in India with Baba at the end of the summer.
“Any chance of your visiting Baba in India anytime soon?”
Jeremy smiled wistfully. “A trip to India would be our dream come true, but I won’t be able to get away until I finish my internship. Even then, it will be tricky—I’ll be starting my residency. I just don’t know. . .”
I found it difficult to understand how Jeremy and Carrie could be at once so spiritual and devoted to the guru, yet at the same time so enmeshed in Maya—the illusion of this world. I spent the night on the sofa in the living room of their shoebox apartment, and then got a ride back up to Birchwood Falls on the ashram shuttle the next morning. I was astounded at how much money I’d spent just on taxi fares alone. It made me feel queasy. I made a mental note to study a subway map the next time I was in New York. The City turned out not to be as scary as I’d feared. The idea of running out of money someday and not feeling rich anymore was much more terrifying.
My passport came in the mail a couple of weeks later. It was a huge relief to turn it over to Gajendra, knowing that Baba would be taking care of everything else for me. All I had to do was write a check, and the ashram would do the rest. In just a few more weeks, I’d be on my way to Ravipur, the holiest place on earth.
During the period leading up to our departure, I was thrilled whenever I got a chance to be close to Baba. But I had to stand guard over my thoughts at all times. It was unnerving knowing that I was in the presence of someone who could hear everything I was thinking. Before long, I developed the ability to keep my mind a blank. This skill also served me during meditation. I believed I was making steady progress on the path to enlightenment. At this rate, I thought, I’d attain the ultimate goal by the time I was thirty.
The ashram was mobbed with devotees on the weekend of Baba’s departure, and my brother and his wife had come to see Baba off. The theme of the guru’s last public talk of the summer was unconditional love and devotion to the guru. Many in the audience had tears in their eyes, knowing it would be the last time they’d see their beloved Baba for at least a year. I was misty-eyed too, but for a different reason. I was overcome with gratitude for being one of the lucky ones who wouldn’t be left behind.
“The connection between a guru and his disciple is sacred. It is deeper than all other relationships. It is comparable to the bond between a lover and his divine beloved,” Baba said.
“An essential virtue for a true disciple is an unwavering devotion to the guru. All the disciple’s flaws are burned away in the fire of this divine love. A worthy disciple must dedicate his life to the guru without any reservations or conditions.”
Baba paused to let his words sink in.
“Kalyan was the favorite disciple of Swami Ramdas Samarth, who was a perfected master of Raja Yoga of the seventeenth century. One day, Swami Ramdas decided to put the devotion of his closest disciples to a test. Placing a mango on the joint of his knee and wrapping it in a bandage so that it looked like an enormous swelling, he summoned his students and pretended to be very ill and near death. Pointing to the bump, he said that it was a malignant tumor and that he would die unless someone sucked out the poison from the joint. He also warned that whoever sucked out the poison would die instantly.
“While the others hesitated, Kalyan instantly knelt and put his lips to the tumor. To his great surprise, instead of poison, Kalyan tasted sweet mango juice. Swami Ramdas revealed to his disciples that it had been a test, and praised Kalyan’s perfect devotion and selfless love. To lay down one’s life for the sake of the beloved in this way is true devotion.”
I was amazed at Baba’s words. With all my heart, I longed to be a worthy disciple like Kalyan.
“What inspires this kind of pure devotion?” Baba continued. “It is the superior love that the guru has for the disciple. The perfect faith and loyalty that Kalyan demonstrated can only come to the disciple through the grace of the master.”
After Baba’s talk, the darshan line stretched all the way back to the entrance of the cafeteria. “I have an idea,” I said to Jeremy and Carrie. “Why don’t we all go up to see Baba together as a family?”
Carrie’s eyes sparkled. “That’s a great idea, Doug!”
Jeremy looked less certain.
Ever since meeting Baba, I’d wanted to go up on the darshan line with Jeremy, but he had always made excuses not to go. This time he reluctantly agreed. When it was our turn to greet Baba, the guru smiled at us.
“Brothers?”
“Yes, Baba,” Jeremy answered, trembling slightly.
Baba turned to Anjali and said something else, and then she translated for Jeremy.
“Baba says that Deependra is a good boy. His heart is very pure.”
Jeremy looked away from the guru. “Yes, Baba.”
“He is also very intelligent, no?”
Jeremy nodded.
Carrie glanced at me sideways, and then covered her mouth to stifle a giggle.
After blessing each of us with his wand of peacock feathers, Baba dismissed us with a nod of his head.
We ate dinner in the cafeteria, and afterwards, at Carrie’s request, we had a sweet milky fruit salad called kastarda for dessert at Prasad. We sat outside on the deck, and the evening air was warm. Fireflies blinked on and off all over the ashram grounds. Jeremy, whose mood had darkened since darshan with Baba, barely said a word.
“Time to go,” Jeremy said, standing up suddenly.
Carrie glanced at my half-eaten bowl of kastarda. “Deependra and I haven’t finished our dessert yet.”
Jeremy looked at his watch and frowned. Then he excused himself to use the restroom.
“Is everything okay with Shree Ram?” I asked Carrie.
She turned to watch Jeremy disappear into the men’s room. “I think he’s bummed out that the only time Baba ever spoke to him, it was about you.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out.
“Your brother’s always been jealous of you, you know.”
Now, I couldn’t help laughing. With all his accomplishments—Jeremy jealous of me? I shook my head. “That can’t be true.”
“Yes it is!” she insisted. “Never tell Shree Ram I told you this, but he’s always believed you were your mother’s favorite.”
I folded my arms in front of my chest. “That’s absurd.”
“Your mother spoiled you rotten, Doug.” Carrie’s voice wavered as she spoke. “She always gave you way more attention than Jeremy, and if she didn’t give you exactly what you wanted, when you wanted it, you’d throw a fit.”
I felt a sharp pain in my gut. “That’s so untrue!” I thought back to when my brother’s personality had changed in high school. “So, am I supposed to believe that Jeremy’s depression was my fault—because our mother loved me more? Well, that’s bullshit!”
Carrie lifted a finger in front of her lips and looked around nervously. “Shhh! We’re in an ashram, Doug!”
Then it hit me: Baba’s working on Jeremy’s ego! Doesn’t he realize that?
“Harvey leaving you all his money didn’t help either.”
I massaged the back of my neck. Just then, Jeremy appeared behind us on the deck. Startled, Carrie began to fidget and run her fingers through her hair.
Jeremy scowled and slung his overnight bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go, Carrie. We’re leaving.”
In the parking lot, Jeremy managed to give me a half-hearted hug and a tepid pat on the back. “Have a great time in India, Doug,” he said without smiling.
Carrie threw her arms around me and squeezed me tight. When she let go, there were tears in her eyes. “Don’t forget to write!”