Some memories are sweet some sour, but some keep reverberating in our mind endlessly and at odd times of night and day, and leaves one to wonder the chemistry and physics behind such play- backs of thought. It may have been a mile stone of accomplishment or a fallen sign post that changed the direction of your life but nevertheless, the burden of sorrow or pain can only be lightened by sharing it with your friends.

It was a few decades back, when I along with my young wife and kids were lodged comfortably at the Sraswathy Kuteer located in Sivananda Ashram at Rishikesh. I was fortunate to have had a neighbour, who was a saffron robed Swamiji from Mauritius, in his mid fifties, who had come to India to attend the conference of the Divine Light Mission. His lineage could be traced to Bengal-Bihar as his ancestors had migrated to the island as indentured labour two centuries back. Brown skinned, of average height and build, his erudition and scholarship were over flowing as evidenced by his saintly composure. I had seen him earlier in the day in placid conversation with a German tourist, may be on matters spiritual. Later I also observed the bearded German pulling hard on his cigarette when alone, perhaps ruminating on the discussion he had with the saint. That emboldened me to approach the Swamiji to clear some smoky cobwebs that cluttered my mind for long.

Here, I must make two things clear, to my avid readers. My trip to Rishikesh was not dictated by any religious fervour but was meant to be a week-end relaxation. My marriage was hardly five years old, with a fair beautiful Brahmin girl from the south whose charm held me in rapture for many years. I was no real match for her. She still maintains that charm after all these years of weathering. (Except at times, when the devil possesses her!) After an early dinner, I quietly tip-toed to Swamiji's half closed door and enquired if I could have some of his valuable time. He readily agreed and with a wave of his hand, bade me in, while retaining his slanted posture of contemplation. After offering my pranams, I took the seat offered opposite him with a straight back with all the reverence that, the context demanded. After a brief introduction, I hesitatingly un-wound my bundle of doubts. It was about the existence of spirits, both good and bad that haunt living men. If it is true, then how come they exist, when God-the all knowing is ever present? Can a dismembered body have a soul? Is Karma, a religious concept to physically explain the effects of the present, by actions (causes) of the past? Or is destiny, the seed of the past to reap the present harvest?  More scientifically, I have long been perplexed by the number of bodies that leave the earth, and the number of additional souls that take birth every year, which as an algebraic function does not balance with the left and right side of the equation, given the karma attached to every birth. I was also worried that with more and more people dying, the room at the top will have to be infinite for the re-cycling to be effective during hibernation. Further the position of a Guru or Matathipathi as envisaged in our religion, is supposed to be endowed with enormous powers to transform the Sishya by his blessings - a power franchised (out-sourced) by God to another human being on earth ? A sort of mid-course correction of our destiny! All this, for only one sixth of the population on the earth, while all the rest enjoy the material pleasures devoid of any heavenly retribution, marauding, looting, raping and enjoying all the sensual pleasures with gay abandon. Then, what with some Swamijis, materialising objects and holding devout crowds in religious rapture? Swamiji listened to my pleadings patiently with a condescending smile. There was no agitation in his looks compared with the rage that I was over taken. The cool, early night breeze with an aromatic flavour blew over my face through the open door, as I finished. I relaxed a bit in the satisfaction of having exposed my intelligent mind to an ascetic whose life's pursuit is different to that of mine. I visualised that I have put him in a tight spot. The Swamiji was brief and candid in response. After explaining me of the nuances of Hindu thought and the different stages of transition of life and its experience in the spiritual world he asked me if religious attributes be ever measured by physical parameters. As much as, light can not be weighed in pounds, or weight in inches. Each one has a different dimension." Have you read the speech of Swami Vivekananda? Three things are necessary to achieve great things. First feel from the heart, what is there in intellect or reason? It goes there a few steps and there it stops.....” The words were ringing a distant bell in my mind, for after all I had earlier done my schooling under Ramakrishna Mission. While appreciating the strength of my arguments, he announced that I have now reached a stage where I must under go initiation. A very few people get to that stage of religious pursuit. There are larger goals in life for Janma, than by education, marriage, family life, material accomplishments etc. It is the up-gradation of spirit in successive births that matters, till you attain that state of Nirmoola Moksha –the ninth step-- a state of everlasting bliss -- with out further birth or death. The discussion had gone on far too long. It was almost mid-night when, I relented. Swamiji was elevating me. In his evaluation I have already risen above the normal human being, I thought, I was. But my face relayed a different message to the Swamiji, of lack of conviction. “If you still, don't believe me, I shall take out a live and fresh lotus from this Kamandal” he said pointing to the photograph of Late Swami Sivananda his Guruji which adorned his table. I was flabbergasted. If I succumb to that temptation of seeing the lotus, there was every possibility of his dismissing me as an immature person wishing to watch a magic performance rather than a seeker of truth. The wish to test the powers of Guru was also over-riding in my rational mind. I decided in favour of the former. He also told me that after initiation I will have to restrict myself most of the time, to a room, duly distinguished by burning of incense and anointed with flowers and pictures of Gods. That I should start sleeping alone and slowly forego the sensual pleasures and spicy food besides material gratification. With some more restrictions that I had to imbibe in private life the Swamiji bade me to come the next morning after  cleansing my body and soul in the Ganges, with a firm and resolute will for being  initiated. As I returned to our room and rolled in the bed, tormented by the thought of up coming transformation and the struggle that has to be encountered in the depth of my heart, the warmth of my wife by my side was highly comforting.

The next morning, I accompanied by my wife and sons went down the steps at the bathing ghat and confronted the chill water that was shaking the bones. After bathing the children seated on the steps, and drying them, I entered the last step that covered my entire frame but suddenly found myself being carried by the fast moving current. I was no great swimmer. My wife who was watching me beat the water in panic rushed along the bank when I was being carried by the racing river. At a distance of some 50 yards I managed to reach the extended hands of my wife and was safely anchored before I was eventually pulled out with the assistance another couple of men. Later after the trauma subsided, I went to the Swamiji along with the incense sticks, fruits and other pooja offerings, he prayed for some time and then after bidding me to take a solemn oath whispered some mantras in my ear, which were to be repeated throughout my life in solemn solitude. After some basic rituals I emerged from the room as an initiated person and promised to keep my contact with the Guru periodically for further guidance .Many months later he, as a true servant of God, wrote to me enquiring about my spiritual progress and I am yet to reply. The hand that anchored me on the shore that early morning along the banks of the ferocious Ganga, saved my day. And as the great Mother Theresa had written in her diary, God had eluded me all my life.