Baba Leaves Kainchi for the Last Time 9/11/1973 – A Devotee’s Take on Maharajji’s Mahasamadhi ♥ राम राम ♥ …Maharajji finished tapping Tiwari-ji on the head and he gradually awoke from his samadhi state. Maharajji then got up from his seat and in a jovial mood turned around and went into his room. We did not know it at that moment, but this was the last time most of us were to see Baba alive. The camera caught the mood of the devotees standing around the temple courtyard at the base of the tucket, smiling and talking and anticipating the next darshan. It was never to happen in that way again. We went back to our hut at the turn in the road. (A series of switchbacks from which Kainchi got its name “scissors”). Dwarkanath and I took the bus into Bhowali 8 km away to get a few supplies for the western kitchen at the ashram. While we were standing at the edge of town waiting for a bus to return us to the valley, we saw a car approach with Maharajji in the front seat. We did pranam as he passed us. The car had to slow down for the traffic and Baba gave us a blessing in the form of a wave and a smile. Then he was gone, his car swallowed up by the large crowds. We had been given no indication by Baba that he was going anywhere, and this was par for the course. He frequently left the ashram by car accompanied by one or two Indian devotees. Sometimes he returned later in the day after visiting nearby. Infrequently he stayed away from the ashram for a few days. It was always a surprise to us whenever he left the ashram. We did not know this time whether he would be gone for a few hours or a few days. The rest of the day was passed in that strange space with a sort of void in the valley. Everyone went about adjusting their schedule around not having afternoon darshan. The following day passed quietly with life in Kainchi “on hold.” The next morning we strolled down to the ashram as usual, with little expectation that Maharajji would be there. As soon as we entered the gates, we sensed something was wrong. There were only a few staff persons around. None of the usual Indian devotees could be seen, and there was an ominous uncharacteristic feeling in the ashram. Something was definitely wrong. We could get nothing out of the staff. They were tight lipped and unhappy with these new developments. Eventually we got out of them that everyone had gone over night to Vrindivan. What for was not revealed. At that point, early on the 11th of September, 1973, many of the western devotees decided to go to Vrindivan immediately. From Kainchi in those days, that was a problem. Buses were few and far between, and there was no other means of transportation out of the valley except by foot or perhaps to flag down a passing truck and offer money to the driver. Money was a problem for us. Fortunately our guru-bhai, Ira Rose, was staying with us and he had money. Myself, Janaki, and Ira eventually boarded a bus to Haldwani. By mid-day we arrived there and hired a taxi to take us the rest of the way to Vrindivan. It was only a couple of hundred kilometers at the most, but the road was in terrible condition and the journey took many hours. While driving we all had the ominous feeling that something terrible had happened. That much had been communicated to us in the ashram. Late in the afternoon the sky began to darken. Being September, the monsoon was still on-going. But this was something different. It became as night and a tremendous storm descended upon our world. Rain and wind. Within a few miles the road was flooded. Water was flowing a foot deep and the road had vanished. Our driver was nervous and wanted to stop and go back. We cajoled and eventually offered him more money to continue. So we drove for several miles through water that came up to the doors. Eventually we got back on visible road and continued the slow moving drive. As evening approached, the storm let up and the rain stopped. We were approaching Vrindivan. As we slowed down to turn under the archway which led down the Parikrama Marg to the ashram, we came upon a parade blocking the road. At first it seemed like a typical Indian wedding parade, with a brass and drum band in poorly-made Sgt. Pepper’s Band uniforms and little street boys carrying lanterns. As it was only a couple hundred yards to the ashram we got out of the taxi and began to walk quickly past the parade. The band had stopped marching and was playing devotional music. “Raghupati Raghava Raja Ram.” They and many others were gathered in a large crowd, and at the centre was an Ambassador car covered in marigold garlands. This was not a wedding. The scene was surreal. Darkness had descended. A dozen or so large gas lamps were lighting the scene. There was a black car covered in orange flowers. At that moment we saw what was going on. On top of the car, totally covered in flowers except for one spot. There, in a gap in the blanket of marigolds, was Maharajji’s face looking up into the dark sky. Really, it was only by his nose that he was instantly recognizable. Our worst fear was true. Maharajji had died. We fell into the parade of mourners which after the tune was over, began to move again. Moments later the car carrying Baba’s body entered the ashram courtyard. The band went home. This parade was an old Vrindivan tradition. When any great saint of Vrindivan dies, the body is taken on parade through the town to give darshan to the people one last time. We had come in time to witness the final moments of this great event. We were left in a state of shock with several hundred Indian and a few western devotees milling about the ashram grounds. Many people were openly weeping. Others were dazed. Still others, many of them recognized by me as VIP devotees, seemed to be having earnest and serious discussions. Sometimes it is difficult for a westerner to determine whether or not Indians are arguing when they are talking together. I had no need at this time for discussions. We found a quiet spot and cried. Baba’s body was placed on top of a very large block of ice on the verandah in front of his room. The temperature in Vrindivan was very warm and the melt water was draining off the floor. More and more devotees were arriving. As usual it seemed like chaos. But chai was being prepared and served and in some ways life was going on. The senior devotees were trying to make the final decision about cremation. There was some discussion of moving the body to Rishikesh or some other location for cremation. This idea was put to rest with the appearance of Pagal Baba, a renowned saint of Vrindivan, and a neighbor. He declared that Baba had come specifically to Vrindivan to “leave his body” and that his wishes seemed clear. The cremation was going to take place here. Later I came to understand that some of the discussions had to do with waiting a longer time until more devotees arrived. No doubt many were en route. But travel in India is slow at best. The other discussion revolved around whether Maharajji’s body should be cremated or not. Some people suggested that it be buried in the tradition of the Sanyasins, or simply put into the river Yamuna, as was the tradition of the Vaishnava saints. Baba was considered by many to be a Vaishnava on the basis of his sadhu name, Lakshman Das. In the end it was decided to cremate. A few hours after our arrival some decision had been made and the previously collected firewood was stacked in the somewhat orderly fashion of the Hindu cremation. While some chanting was going on Baba’s body was moved from the ice block to the funeral pyre in the middle of the ashram yard. A large crowd of devotees gathered around in the dark. It was hot and humid. Everyone went up to Baba’s body to pay their last respects. With myself and many others this outwardly took the form of touching or kissing his feet for the last time. The fire was lit and gallons of ghee were spread over the wood. A special order of sandalwood arrived and was incorporated into the pyre. No-one slept that night. The rooms of the ashram were packed and hundreds more people stood around the courtyard while the fire burned. More and more devotees continued to arrive, too late for the final darshan of Baba’s body. *** The fire was kept alive all night long and into the following day. Devotees continued to arrive from all corners of India. By keeping the fire alight these people also could have final darshan. The ashram staff was kept busy making and serving food and keeping a steady flow of chai available. As people arrived, others left for home. By the second day the ashes were cooling, and many people helped themselves to some as a relic of sorts of Maharajji. We also took some and after two days, returned to Kainchi. It was our home, and there was nowhere else to go. The Mothers and the rest of the Nainital and Kainchi entourage had mostly returned before us. The Mothers greeted us as they never had before. In fact, there had been almost no contact between the Westerners and the Mothers until now. Without Baba’s physical presence, Shri Siddhi Ma and Jivanti Ma began to live a less scheduled life. It was they who welcomed us into the ashram as members of Maharajji’s family, and we all grieved together. There was a feeling of Baba’s continued presence and a deepening of our understanding of the eternal presence of the guru within. How does one grieve for the Guru? Was Maharajji the body – so sweet and loveable, a veritable manifestation of baby Krishna; a deep and sometimes fierce Shiva; even the Mother of us all. Is he also our true selves, our own inner divine nature, inseparable and undifferentiated from his own divine nature? These were questions upon which we now had an abundance of time to consider. Other questions which had never come to mind until then, such as what about tomorrow, the future, perhaps now had to be dealt with. For two years now we had been in a kind of heaven on earth. Surrounded by Baba’s infinite love, we were cared for in every way. All of our immediate needs were covered; food, shelter, clothes, money. Baba was the king of a most benevolent kingdom, and he saw to all the needs of his children. I suppose I could let these issues continue to be controlled by Him. If there was a plan, it would become manifest. Our job was to remember him. Not in the traditional sense of remembering and focusing on past events, but in the continuous being in the moment with him. This was a new chapter in this book of life. Until now it was all about being with him. from Keshav Das, ed., “Barefoot in the Heart: Remembering Neem Karoli Baba,” pp. 150-153.
Posted on: Mon, 26 Jan 2015 03:53:13 +0000