Meeting Nisargadatta - A True Account (2 of 2)

[Guest guest]

Dear List,

 

The following is reposted from the Nisargadatta list. It

concerns a list member there by the name of Cathy B., who had the

privilege of meeting Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj while he was still

alive and was kind enough to share her experiences with the list in a

series of postings! i found this account to be a most enjoyable

read, and i think many here will, too.

 

Apologies for the length of these posts, hopefully it won't cause

problems with anyone's Email software.

 

[Part 2 of 2]

 

"From the Omkara Archives" (raw and unedited) ;-)...

 

* * *

 

Maharaj had spoken to a Rajneesh Sanyassin with much love and

compassion when he aksed the sanyassin "Don't you get to ask your guru

these kinds of questions?" The Sanayassin said that it was difficult

to get close and ask these kinds of questions. The whole room was

permeated by Maharaj's love and concern. It was an interesting time

to be in Bombay, in 1978. There were many western seekers in the

city. The Rajneesh sanyassins stood out in my mind because they all

wore red or bright orange, yet the woman many times dressed in tank

tops (orange ones) without bras. They had a very sexual presence. I

am not a prude, but I think that India wasn't quite ready for them,

couldn't quite make out the walking paradoxes they appeared to be,

sexual sannayassins. There were also many Muktananada devotees. It

was a revelation to me to see how many English, German and Dutch

seekers there were, with a minority of American ones. I became

aware of my own national pride which I had not been aware of, like

how I was special because I was american. But there were many more

sincere European seekers (more deluded ones too!).

 

This brings me to the day that J. Krishamurti came to Bombay to speak.

Apparently Rajneesh had encouraged his sanyassins to come to town to

hear him speak in the late afternoon, early evening. The young

sanyassin whom Maharaj spoke so compassionately with brought a group

of about twenty sanyassins to meet him. The first thing Maharaj did

was divide us by gender. Then he told a mother who was a sanyassin to

make her child pull in his legs (as they were stretched out towards

Maharaj) as it was impolite. He started off saying that he had

separated them by sex because although he wasn't concerned about sex,

it appeared that they were very fixated on it and he felt that it

would help them concentrate. He said"If it was up to me I would stack

you one on top of another like a pile of wood, but you are so

fascinated that I have separated you.' This is my paraphrase, but I

clearly remember the part about stacking you one on top of another.

He asked for questions. I remember one woman relaying a Buddhist

analogy about using skillful means as a boat to the other shore which

is Nirvana. Maharaj said "I would put you all into the boat, send you

to the other shore and I would stay here on this shore!" He was

intent on breaking through their spiritual concepts and was not

impressed with them in the least.

 

Before I left for Maine, I was telling you all about when I felt like

I betrayed Maharaj because I had gone to see his Guru brother, Bhai

Nath Maharaj. After sharing with Maharaj the whole of it, he laughed

and said, "Oh no, you are free to see anyone!" I had taken his

question " Are you going to roam about?" as an injunction not to seek

and was too literal about it. My translator, Mr. Mullarpattan smiled

and told me that J. Krishnamurti was going to be speaking that very

evening. Now, I never really felt much interest in Krishnamurti but I

was curious. Even in Maharaj's loft there was a line drawing of

Krishnamurti. People seemed to speak about Krishnamurti with

reverance. I remember there was even some talk about attempting a

meeting between Maharaj and Krishnamurti. I was told it never

happened because Krishnamurti's car could not fit down Ketwadi Lane.

This may have been wishful thinking, not really what happened.

 

It was a very interesting scene. I went with my translator friend,

Mr. Mullarpattan. It was held out of doors,in a kind of open park.

There were many Rajneesh Sanyassins and afluent,young, intellectual

Indians. Krishnamurti seemed peaceful, beautiful but fretful. There

was a hillarious scene where he was saying "Nowadays the pressures of

society deform the brain, we can't even see the birds." Meanwhile

behind him there was a bird caught in a kite string. The Bombay Fire

Department was trying to free it while buzzards were circling the

poor trapped bird. It was a real Keystone Kops kind of a scene. And

I thought," Krishnamurti, you are so caught up in your imagery of

nature you can't see the birds as they really are!"

 

Next morning after speaking to Maharaj he said "Krishnamurti is a

great thinker" I took that in a negative context while the rest of

the folks thought he was complimenting Krishnamurti.I looked into

Maharaj's eyes. I felt a oneness.I had to agree, Krishnamurti was a

great thinker.

 

I had been bringing offerings that I purchased in the marketplace.

Somedays it was sweets, sometimes fruit, most days flowers. It is

customary to bring them and since the first day when Mr. Hate

suggested it, it became my habit. It was one of those things that

just went with prostrating. I liked to bring a small garland of

flowers, made out of jasmine or tuberrose, something pretty. One day

I brought such a small garland and Maharaj smiled and explained,

through the translator that these garlands were actually decorations

for women's hair. At this time Maharaj's granddaughter (by his son)

was standing in the corner grinning. I had to laugh as it never

occurred to me that this was for another purpose than the one I had

given. He beckoned to his granddaughter and gave her the little

garland. In a moment she swooped down, got the garland and ran down

the stairs, laughing. It must have been hilarious for her! There were

so many Indian customs that I didn't know.

 

When people brought sweets or fruit, they would be divided and

distributed at the end of the talks. I remember that they would take

an old school notebook and rip the pages out and fold the prasad into

them. It struck me how everything was valuable in India, even a used

notebook could be used for a higher purpose.

 

One day Mr. Mullarpattan, my translator asked me if I would like to

visit the samadhi of Sri Siddharameshwar ( Maharaj's Guru.) A samadhi

is sort of like a monument or gravestone commemorating a saint or

sage's grave. Although I wasn't sure if I would like to see it, I took

Mr. Pattan up on his invitation. It took us two doubledecker busses

to go from his house to the cremation ground by the Arabian Sea. Our

translator explained that although most people were cremated, some

enlightened beings were buried because they had already been cremated

by the fire of Self Knowledge. This was the case in Sri

Siddharameshwar's case. Cremated in life, it was unnecessaru to be

cremated in death. The place was kind of intense, with the grey

Indian Ocean in the back ground and the ashy empty biers. The samadhi

was old. Mr. Pattan brought the requisite articles for a puja, a

banana, some camphor, incense. We chanted and circumabulated the

samadhi and he did an aarti for us. It was more inspiring than I had

imagined and I felt moved and privilaged to be at this holy spot. I

came to a deeper reverence for Sri Siddharameshwar.

 

Years later I saw a video of Maharaj with his disciples at this same

samadhi, doing puja, chanting. I believe it was either a death

anniversary or so other important occassion. Having been there, I

felt that I understood the experience more deeply. Of Maharaj's

reverence for Siddharameshwar.

 

And in years after that, when I heard of Maharaj's own funeral, I

could visualize it taking place. Supposedly, he was taken on the back

of a truck, a brass band playing, the whole neighborhood turning out.

Which was interesting because they acted like he was just an ordinary

guy. Maharaj was cremated. But I think that is in keeping with the

way he lived, like a common man, no fanfare.

 

One day my friend, Rick and I took a taxi to Maharaj's home. As we

approached the Alfred Cinema our taxi driver said "You like your

Guru?No charge." Now we had only told him to take us to the

address near the Alfred Cinema and had not mentioned Maharaj. So my

friend and I got out of the taxi and started walking (after thanking

the driver.) The driver came running up and said, "No charge for

me...but the petrol..." I felt like an insensitive boor, I hadn't

understood that the driver had to pay for the petrol and it came

right out of his pocket. We apologized profusely and paid him. He

said "Enjoy your Guru." Now I do not know if he assumed that

Westerners in Bombay would be visiting a Guru, or if he knew of Sri

Nisargadatta. People in the neighborhood would, the local policeman,

the people on the street. But no one would let on that he was a

famous Guru.

 

Bombay has many beggars. We would see many children beggars when we

took walks on Marine Drive. People would flaunt their deformity and

make our western minds swoon. Some days I would be giving money to

anyone who asked. The next day I would refuse everyone. No matter

what I did, I didn't feel comfortable. I was impressed with one young

beggar who had a deformed lower leg. He would come up to our taxi as

we were sitting in traffic and lift his leg and show us his

deformity. Wewould keep running into him. After awhile, we would all

be laughing, "You again!" One day in particular we ran into him in

the area where Maharaj lived and then shortly afterwards in an

another part of town. I was impress that he was so mobile. That night

I sat in my hotel room thinking about our beggar friend. He seemed

bright and full of energy. I thought, I could give him all the money

in the world but it would not be the same as bringing him to truth.

After all, he lived in the same town as Maharaj. I talked to my

friend Rick about this. After thinking about it some more, I decided

I would invite my beggar to Satsang. I felt I could never really help

the beggars of Bombay in a real way except in this fashion. I decided

the next time I ran into him (and I knew I would!) that I would give

him the address. The next day that happened. We laughed as usual, I

think I gave him some money and a piece of paper with Maharaj's

address written on it. Then we left him and went off to Satsang.

Satsang was full underway. Then somehow we came to the point of the

condition of a lame man. I had not instigated the current topic of

conversation, it was a complete coincidence, when there was a knock

on the door. Then the announcement that there was a lame man at the

door. With great effort, people were able to get my beggar up the

steep ladder stairs to Maharaj's loft. Once there, the beggar friend

sat down. I remember he looked all around the room, blinking his

eyes. It occurred to me at that moment that he had never been in a

satsang kind of situation. I don't think I considered the fact that

he came with out any clue as to what awaited him, but I hadn't given

much of an explanation with the address.

 

The dialog with Maharaj continued, however, I could see that Maharaj

was much annoyed by the appearance of my beggar. After admitting that

I was the one who had invited this man and being scowled at, I

realized that I had made a faux pax. I guess inviting in local

beggars was something that just wasn't done and Maharaj made no

effort to hide his annoyance. I became more upset because I had never

had Maharaj annoyed with me and I had all these noble ideas that were

shattered. The beggar just looked astonished. He was quiet. At the

end of the session Maharaj said to my translator " He is here just to

feed his belly, give him twenty rupees!" Mr. Mullarpattan nodded his

assent. We all got down from the loft and out on to the street. I

stood quietly weeping. I went up to Mr. Mullarpattan who repeated

what Maharaj had said to him. But Mr. Mullarpattan told me that when

he went up to the beggar to give him the twenty rupees the beggar

refused to take it! I thought, Wow! the beggar must have at least

felt my love, even if he didn't quite get everything else! Twenty

rupees is nothing to sneeze at when you you are poor. I felt wrung

out feeling Maharaj's annoyment and my own ambivalant feelings about

what I had done. Yet Mr. Mullarpattan was showering me with love and

support and that let me feel that it was going to be all right!

 

.... Fini ...