An article by Hilda Charlton about Skanda

[Guest guest]

Hi Everybody,

 

I thought I might share this article with everyone. I found this

article very interesting. The primary reason why I read this article

was because Baba had mentioned about Hilda Charlton in one of his

speeches.

-Raji

 

The Legend Becomes Real " In My Father's house are many mansions: if

it were not so, I would have told you. " John 14:2

 

There are many heavenly planes of existence with different

consciousnesses connected with the planet Earth. When leaving the

Earth in so-called death, people go to the realm they have earned in

life that is in alignment with their evolution. The plane just under

God, the Absolute Unmanifest Essence from which all is created, is

named the celestial realm, and therein dwell those whom we call

Deities. Bhagavan Sri Skanda is of this celestial realm. This

celestial plane, the highest of the heavens, is one of the mansions

to which Jesus referred.

 

Sri Skanda first came into my life many years ago while I was living

in the Orient, in Ceylon, now known as Sri Lanka. Some friends

arranged for me to visit Katragama, the place of His shrine and

temple, situated deep in a jungle. At 4 a.m. on the day of my

pilgrimage, I was awakened and abruptly sat up, remembering my

upcoming trip. Being sleepy, however, I lay down again.

Suddenly, there before me was a vision of a young boy about ten

years of age. His hair was beautiful, gleaming, black as a raven, and

hung down to His shoulders. He had a golden crown with jewels on it.

Authoritatively He said, " Get up! Come! Come! " When I did not

respond, He repeated in a firmer voice, " Immediately! Get up and

come! " I jumped up. At that time I did not know it was Muruga, as

Skanda is called in His youthful form.

The route to Katragama requires travel through remote territories of

Ceylon. I traveled through the jungle in a rickety bus, which stopped

before entering the deep and dangerous part of the jungle.

The driver asked everyone to get out of the bus to visit a small

shrine and to break a coconut by dashing it on a stone before a

temple. Passengers told me a European once had laughed at this ritual

as he passed through this jungle in his car. Later on in his journey,

he was hurt by a rogue elephant. I need not say that I broke the

coconut quickly.

 

The trip through the jungle was long and the bus crowded, but it was

a new experience and interesting. My first trip through the jungle! I

could see eyes shining, looking at us as we passed the undergrowth,

and I spotted a wild elephant.

 

A few miles from the shrine, the air itself began to change. It is

almost impossible to describe the feeling of divine inspiration and

excitement that comes over you as you approach this spiritual center.

The air seems rarified. It is as if light enters you and changes the

atoms of your body. Miles from the shrine, everyone starts to

chant " Muruga, Muruga, Skanda, Skanda! " Joy fills the heart with

expectation.

 

The bus arrives and there, quietly flowing before your eyes, is the

sacred ganga, or river, with a small bridge passing over it. No cars

or buses go beyond this point. You walk on foot over the bridge in

ecstasy, momentarily stopping to look at the flowing water below,

knowing that you are about to enter holy ground. No one needs to

convince or convert you. The outside air becomes an extension of

yourself. You become one with the holiness and feel it in every pore

of your skin.

 

Bathing in the ganga before going to the temple is part of the ritual

of the shrine. The quietness of the softly flowing river and the

green-leaved trees overhead makes you think, " This is what life is

all about — bliss and peace. " The words " Shanti, Shanti, Om "

resonated in my head.

 

I have only visited one other place on a pilgrimage where I have

felt such keen expectancy and such a blissful feeling. That is at

Lourdes, France, where you walk through fields of flowers to get to

the shrine and where I felt an inner quietness identical to that of

Katragama.

 

Once while I was visiting Lourdes, a vision of Mary, Mother of Jesus,

requested I take water from her sacred spring to give to a Hindu

friend in Ceylon who was an alcoholic. I said, " Mother, I can't take

water to him. He's a Hindu. He might not accept it. " Mary answered

sweetly but firmly, " I tell you, take this water to your friend

Selvaratna. " I obeyed her and filled a jar with water from the

spring.

 

Later I arrived in Ceylon and was reluctant to give this holy water

from Lourdes to my Hindu friend. I met him one day on the street,

however, where he said to me, " I was at Katragama and saw your Mother

on a beautiful jeweled throne in the jungle there. " I did not

comprehend this, for my earthly mother had passed away long before.

He became impatient with my lack of understanding and said, " Your

Mother, your Mother — you know, Mary. " I then asked him, " Would

you

like some water from Mary's spring at Lourdes? " He answered with

almost joy in his voice, " Of course! " He drank the water and never

touched alcohol again. He was completely cured — the desire to

drink

left him, never to return.

 

How beautifully unified are those of the heaven worlds! Here was an

ardent Hindu at Katragama seeing a Christian image of Mary in

Skanda's forest. " All of the higher realms are one, " I thought. " They

work in divine unison. "

 

After our arrival at Katragama, the group I was with decided to climb

the four miles of steep jungle to the top of the mountain, where the

head swami stayed in a tiny hut. The group was noisy and boisterous

as it climbed upwards, and as I wanted to make this a spiritual

pilgrimage, I loitered behind the others until they were far out of

sound and sight. The way was rugged, rocky and straight up, with a

meager path to follow, and one could easily get lost on the mountain

where wild animals, even tigers, roamed.

 

As soon as I was alone, a stray dog (or so I thought) came up and

walked beside me. When I walked, he led the way. When I sat and

rested, he sat and rested. I became very aware of this as it kept

reoccurring and continued until near the top of the mountain, where I

rejoined my group. The dog disappeared into thin air and was never

seen again.

 

I told the group, experienced in the lore of Skanda, of this event

and they looked at me in amazement and said, " Legend says Sri Skanda

lets no one walk the jungle alone. He creates an aspect of Himself in

the form of a dog to take care of the wayfarer. "

 

I was beginning to get attuned to the legends of Skanda. On entering

the sacred temple, or dewale, I thought, " Is all this real? Is it

true? If so, Skanda, may I have some sign? " Immediately a butterfly

of enormous size and beauty flew through the temple door and came to

me, and then went to a picture of Skanda and landed on it, moving its

wings in rhythm with the temple drums. Then the butterfly

disappeared. My faith grew stronger.

 

On the mountaintop above Katragama, the view overlooking thousands

of acres of wildlife sanctuary was breathtaking. Sometimes I would

sleep there and join in the pujas held on the edge of the mountain.

One or two of us staying atop the mountain would gather and join the

swami for the 4 a.m. ceremony in which he would bless the world in

Skanda's name. The priest would wind a cloth dipped in coconut oil

atop a large stick and light it to make a great flare. We would stand

there in the dark with the swami chanting, the pungent smell of the

burning oil filling the air. The soft but crisp night air would wake

us up as we watched him turn to the east, the north, the south and

the west, waving the flare held high. Afterwards I would sit on the

mountaintop and meditate until dawn.

 

While sitting with eyes closed one early morning after a mountain

puja, with the lingering smell of the burning oil from the flare

still in the air, Skanda appeared to me for the first time in His

grown-up princely form. Until then He had always appeared in the form

of Muruga, the ever-youthful one.

 

It is hard to describe the beauty of the Celestial Ones in this

world of worries, fears and decay. Skanda appeared standing majestic,

calm and quiet. His face, wondrous in appearance, emanated beauty,

with love and power harmonized. Skanda's crown of gold, in the shape

of a helmet, rose to a peak, denoting the awakened seventh chakra at

the top of the head. The crown was dazzling with rare gems. He sent

forth a light from these stones that filled me with an unearthly

bliss.

 

As Skanda stood in front of me in His ethereal form, He extended His

hand and gave me His vel (pronounced vail), or lance. Being young and

impudent and not yet knowing proper protocol, instead of bowing and

saying, " Thank you, Skanda, " I said, " This is fine, but it is only a

vision. Where is the vel? "

 

I soon climbed down the mountain and went to the temple to show my

appreciation to Skanda for His blessing. In Katragama, devotees offer

baskets of fruit and flowers at the shrine to the officiating priest,

who takes them behind a closed curtain for blessing. Once blessed,

the fruit is cut into pieces and returned. I sent in my offering,

which the priest took to the inner sanctum. When the basket was

returned to me, upon it was placed a pure silver shining vel.

Skanda had heard me! He had performed the miraculous and had

fulfilled the vision! Out from that ancient temple, so old that no

one knows its age, I walked as if on air above the earth, ecstatic

with love.

 

It is the tradition of this temple that when the high priest passes

on, a vote is taken to determine a successor for this lifetime

position. During my stay in Ceylon, this changeover of priests

occurred, and an acquaintance of mine decided to apply for the

honored position. At first he was not sure whether he should apply

—

to become a high priest, one must pass many esoteric tests. While

driving his car through the jungle to get to Katragama, my friend was

still trying to make up his mind and wondered whether Sri Skanda

approved of his intention. Suddenly, in the middle of the forest and

blocking the road, there stood a peacock, the peacock being closely

associated with Sri Skanda. He felt this was a sign from Sri Skanda

and proceeded to try for the position. The last of many difficult

tests to become high priest is to go alone into the powerful

innermost sanctum of Skanda's temple. Though he was not allowed to

tell me what happened, for he had taken the vow of silence concerning

the initiation, when he came out, he was completely bathed in

perspiration as if dipped in the waters of the ganga. He said that he

would never be the same again. The priests who would make the final

decision, seeing this and other signs, told him he had been chosen as

the next high priest.

 

The Skanda temple has no statue of any deity in it. It is small, and

the inside seemed to me to be black with the soot of the ageless

burning of camphor and oil contained in the tall brass lamps.

The temple has no elegant carvings as in other Hindu shrines. Some

who have their prayers answered give brightly painted canvas curtains

with pictures depicting Skanda in various forms. These curtains,

placed one on top of the other, cover the front of a high platform

behind which only the priests may enter. The curtains are never

raised and separate the worshipers from the holy sanctum. Instead of

worshiping Skanda as an image or form, there is only a sacred casket

containing a yantra, or mystical inscription on a golden tablet in

which the divine power and grace reside. The casket containing the

yantra is kept in the innermost sanctum, which only the high priest

is allowed to enter. It is this casket which is carried on the back

of an elephant decorated in splendor in processions at the great

festivals of July and November. The elephant walks around the temple

three times to enable devotees to feel close to this powerful, holy

yantra. I was allowed once to walk in this ceremony right behind the

elephant. Every time the procession stopped at certain designated

places, the elephant turned and looked at me. I was nervous that he

did not approve of this white-faced stranger from the West.

One day, the holy man at the top of the mountain at Katragama told me

to do a certain ritual for Murugan, the name by which he called

Skanda. I climbed down the mountain and went to the ganga, bathed and

put on a white sari. My friends brought me the object that looks like

a rope doughnut and is used on the head to carry heavy water jugs.

They put it on the top of my head, and on it they placed a chattie,

or clay bowl, filled with burning hot coals. In my hand they placed a

palm branch.

 

I went along with all this because I wanted to experience and

understand this strange shrine, so different from all the others that

I had visited. Furthermore, if it was a step toward God-realization,

I was willing to try.

 

They told me to circle the temple grounds three times, a total of

nearly three miles, with the chattie filled with hot coals balanced

on my head. I felt so pure and calm as I walked, chanting " Skanda,

Skanda. " A light had entered me and I felt translucent. I was not

conscious of the hot noon sun, nor afraid of the burning coals on my

head. Two-thirds of the way around, however, I lost concentration and

before I knew it, the chattie and coals had fallen off my head and

smashed to the ground. I felt disconcerted over not completing the

ceremony, and the feeling of failure stayed within my heart.

Months passed, and I found myself in the city of Colombo, Ceylon. I

was visiting a friend, an ardent Christian and devotee of Mary, who

was going through a great deal of trouble. She asked if I would

accompany her to a place her servants had begged her to go to for

advice, where a famous psychic had a shrine dedicated to Skanda.

We arrived ahead of time and sat in the garden with dozens of others

who had also come to see him. A car drove up and a man in a western

suit and tie got out. Walking straight to me and passing all the

others, he stood with hands on hips and said to me with a loud

voice, " I know you. Your whole life has been one of sacrifice. I saw

you drop the chattie at Katragama and it made me laugh. " I was taken

aback at this audacious man standing in front of me and wondered why

he spoke to me of this. Others around me, however, started getting

excited and told me that the man was the psychic in trance, and that

the Lord Sri Skanda was speaking through him. I was relieved Skanda

laughed at the chattie falling. I then knew I had not failed Him.

Katragama is also the famous site for fire-walking. A deep trench is

dug, 50 feet long and 4 feet wide, where logs burn for hours until

they turn to hot coals with flames shooting out from them. Those who

have taken a dedicated vow to Sri Skanda to walk these coals must get

permission from the head priest first and for ten days stay at

Katragama, eating only vegetarian food and cleansing themselves as

preparation. Once a Ceylonese friend of mine arrived at Katragama the

day before to see the fire-walking. When she got there, a keen urge

came over her to walk the coals. She went to the top of the mountain

and the swami there said, even before she could ask, " I give my

permission for you to walk the fire. Bathe in the ganga, fast for the

day, and walk the fire without fear, in love. "

 

After the bathing ritual, she sat waiting by the river. Someone put

a palm branch in one of her hands and a coconut in the other, and she

entered the line with those who had been preparing themselves for

days to fulfill their vows by walking the fire.

 

When her turn came to walk, instead of seeing the long path of hot

coals, all she could see was a bright red carpet and at the end Sri

Skanda in all his glory beckoning her to come. She fearlessly danced

down the bed of coals, and even though her sari was trailing in the

fire, it did not burn or even get singed. A Westerner, arrogantly

wanting to prove that fire-walking was only mind over matter and that

Skanda was a fabrication of the imagination, said he would walk. He

ended up in the hospital with terrible burns on the feet and legs and

was bedridden for weeks.

 

Living in the Orient was at times very difficult for me. Once I was

praying ardently for help. I was living at the end of a lane in a

small house with no furniture in it and few possessions. On one side

were fisher-folk whom I often befriended when they were in need. Next

door on the other side was a Catholic church, and sometimes the

Catholic priest would visit me. One morning after I had been praying

hard for help, the boy who cooked for me came about 6 a.m. and

said, " There is a priest at the door. " I asked, " What is he doing

here so early? " thinking it was the Catholic priest. On going to the

door, I saw a holy man from Katragama standing there.

 

He was tall, serene and majestic-looking, holding long peacock

feathers. Through both his cheeks was skewered a long piece of metal,

showing Skanda's power over flesh. It went in one cheek and out the

other, with no sign of blood. Often I have seen this, yet there is

never a scar or sign of blood upon removal. I was so excited to see

this being from Skanda's shrine that I practically dragged him in,

asking him to sit down. He motioned me to come close and took from

his bag an iron statue: " Take this and hold it at the top of your bed

for five minutes and then return it to me. " I did as he requested.

When I returned the statue to him, he stood up without a word and

left. He walked up the lane, went to no other houses, and was seen no

more.

 

Things went well from then on. Skanda knew my needs. I felt later

that it was He in another form.

 

For many years, Skanda made me aware of His presence when the

word " Skanda! " would burst from my lips of its own volition. While

standing in front of Sri Sathya Sai Baba at his ashram in India,

without prompting I spoke the name " Skanda! " Sai Baba looked intently

at me and asked, " What did you say? " I repeated the name, and he

turned to everyone around us and said, " She calls Him by His correct

name, `Skanda.' "

 

Sri Skanda requested that I not speak of Him for one year after

returning to America from my eighteen-year stay in India. Later He

came and gave me instructions to hold a monthly ceremony, or puja, at

the Hindu Temple in Queens, New York. Those in charge of the temple

graciously agreed and gave permission to offer the Skanda-Jyoti puja,

which since 1982 has been held around the time of the full moon and

is open to people of all religions.

 

Sri Skanda also gave to me detailed instructions for the Skanda-

Jyoti puja ceremony. After the actual services are completed by a

Hindu priest, each of the following two mantras are repeated thirty-

two times.

 

Om Jaya Jaya Mahavira Bhagavan Sri Skanda Namo Namaha Om Jaya Jaya

Maha Jyoti Shakti Saravanabhavayah Namo Namaha

 

In His instructions, Skanda explained that these mantras, when said

with devotion, harmonize the Shiva-Shakti, or yin-yang, energy within

each person.

 

" The vel, " Skanda says, " is symbolic of the spine, at the top of

which is the head, inside of which flows Jyoti-Light, or the arisen

kundalini. " To emphasize His instruction, He showed the light within

the vel. " In Jyoti-Light there is Equilibrium, Bliss and Grace. Those

who want God-realization must begin at the bottom of the spine, at

the coccyx. I am the Strength and Force who guides the kundalini

from the bottom to the top of the spine. "

 

Skanda then showed Himself guiding the kundalini straight up, His

hands around the spine. When the kundalini rose and finally burst

forth, the Goddess Jyoti appeared.

 

" First see Jyoti as a face in the vel, " says Skanda, " then the whole

Goddess explodes as the power rises, and She will stand in Her glory.

Bliss is felt, and all aspirants who are in attunement with Her will

get grace. The blessing then overflows to the Earth, helping to raise

the consciousness of humanity. All this happens within but is

symbolized without as the vel of Skanda.

 

" I am the leader, the General, who guides these forces up the spine.

You who yearn for liberation, look to me, follow my words, and

victory will be yours. Turn away from the orders of the general

during the battle, and defeat is the result. When there is war, the

army must listen to the general. "

 

As Sri Skanda finished the details of His instructions, He

intensified His ethereal form. He stepped forward with His right

foot, holding His vel with arms held high. He gave forth a burst of

energy, inhaled a deep breath, and on the exhale emitted a heavenly,

high-pitched sound. He put His vel firmly upon the ground and stood

sure and tall. Over His head appeared in large letters:

 

Victory

 

Remember and Believe

 

So began the divine relationship with my Bhagavan Sri Skanda....