Like any natural process, tantra is a rainbow of varying phases. Sometimes, it becomes a spring of pleasure; sometimes, it turns into an inescapable pit of hellish fire; and sometimes, it presents itself as a whirlwind of surprises. Irrespective of its appearance and feel, it is a test and a reward, simultaneously. Here, emotions play a crucial role; but, too much of indulgence, fear or awe are the quickest methods of self-sacrifice. They say, you can either progress spiritually like an ascetic or enjoy the worldly riches like a king, but not both at the same time. This path to Moksh includes that possibilities. It also includes the surety of no redemption for the greedy and the lusty.
Once, while at the crossroads of spirituality and materialism, I found myself stuck in the muddy swamp of anger and despair. When I had no meaningful direction to follow, I decided to carve my own road out of the situation. I got into my car and let the frenzy be my navigator. Mindlessly driving for miles, randomly turning and needlessly speeding, I ended up at a spot where I narrowly escaped being rammed by an oncoming truck. Since that was not the first such incident, I finally allowed some sense to seep into my head and stopped.
When the dust settled, I found myself ... lost. For a wild moment, I also wondered whether I had crossed into Pakistan. I got out, threw a few careless glances around and, hurling abuses at a bunch of morons who had brushed my right arm with their bicycles, I decided to walk a bit to loosen my body. Suddenly, I felt an urge to sing. I started singing immediately. Those who don't know should know that I am a bad singer. People have actually paid me not to sing. A schoolgirl waking by smilingly asked me, "Big brother, why are you singing a girl's song?" I didn't know that. My knowledge of songs and their lyrics is worse than my singing. I smiled back and replied, "Little sister, if you can wear a boy's clothes, why can't I sing a girl's song?" (She was in shorts and t-shirt.) We both laughed. That helped brighten my mood.
My good mood vanished in a whiff of smoke a few paces later when I saw an SUV thundering towards me threateningly fast. As it came closer, it lurched and hit a man towards my right. Possessed by a furious whim, I picked up a stone and, when the SUV passed me, threw it towards the escaping maniac's head. Unfortunately, I missed.
I sprinted towards the other side of the road. The man squirming in dirt was a sadhu. He gestured me to grab his hand. He swung himself up and, with my help, sat on the ground a few feet away from the road. His right leg was bleeding profusely. While he was catching his breath, I tried calling for an ambulance but my phone had other plans. I brought my first aid kit and began dressing his wound. "Don't worry. It won't kill me." I looked up and, countering his piercing gaze with my own, saw him clearly for the first time.
A frail, battered figure with flowing white hair wrapped in shabby rags. If it hadn't been for the Tripund on his forehead and the iron trident in his hand, I would've easily mistaken him for a beggar. He was extremely old, must have been close to a hundred. His fiery eyes and glowing face were testaments of his not being a fake.
I dressed his wound and told him that he must accompany me to a hospital. He flatly refused insisting that he didn't need any further medical attention. Old sadhus, especially those at the zenith of their spiritual journey, can be very adamant. When a stubborn, old sadhu locks horns with a stubborn, arrogant, young man, fireworks ensue. After a heated argument, he agreed to let me drop him to his shelter and after that, if I felt necessary, he would allow me to bring a doctor there. I was afraid that he might suffer a mood swing and change his mind. So, in a jiffy, I hurried to get my car.
"STOP", he bellowed. "Where are you going?"
"To get my car, where else?"
"I'm an ascetic. Can't go in a car."
"Then…"
"You must carry me on your back."
"WHAT???" And he was not joking.
I had offered to help him. I had insisted that I would take him to his shelter. Backing out just because the situation entailed some hard work was not a good option; neither as a human being nor as a shakti sadhak.
That was my first and till now the only hike with a living, breathing backpack. After a long trek on that twisty, turny trail, we reached an ancient temple dedicated to Lord Vishnu, the consort of goddess Lakshmi. It was beautifully decorated with ornate stone carvings and statues depicting various tales from India's glorious past. It was quite weathered, though strangely, there were no signs of any muslim love having bestowed upon it.
As soon as I entered the temple courtyard, an intense, thrilling, somewhat frightening wave of euphoria flared through me. I felt a strong connection with that place. I wondered why I never visited this place before even after spending most of my life in that region.
The sadhu told me that it was a spiritually significant place. Travelers, especially those who are lost, stop there to rest and when they leave, with the grace of Lord Vishnu, they miraculously find their way. The whole place was designed in such a way that it focused all sorts of natural energy, no matter how insignificant, on the Lord's idol which amplified and diverted it towards the devotee standing in front of the idol.
I wondered whether I could find a way to condition my body in similar fashion. I would learn to use my body to focus every shred of energy on my soul which would, in turn, amplify it and divert it towards my Kundali where it would be amplified again. From there, it would either rise to my Sahasrar or I'll divert it towards a goal.
We stayed there for a while. The sadhu showed me around telling me stories related to the place from his youth. We entered the sanctum sanctorum to pay our respect to the Lord. The idol was so lively, it did not feel like a stone creation. Rather, I felt as if I was in Vaikunth in front of Lord Vishnu himself. The sadhu taught me some pretty unique rituals and we worshipped the Lord together to our hearts' content.
We continued ahead chatting on virtually every possible topic. The sadhu quipped that I should start thinking like King Vikramaditya as he, being on my back, resembled the Vetaal. For the sake of reliving the history, he told me various stories followed by tricky questions which I had to answer. That passed another stint of walking through that treacherous terrain.
With the afternoon drifting towards the evening, each consecutive step started making it that much more difficult to ignore the grip of gravity over my body. I was exhausted. But, being in the presence of an ascetic, asking for a break was self-deprecating. Sensing my dilemma, the sadhu asked me to stop near a pond a short distance away since it was time for his evening prayers.
Once there, he picked up a long twig and sat meditating with the twig trained over the water like a fishing rod. With his eyes closed, he would slowly lower the twig and as soon as its tip touched the water, he would snap it back into its original position. I found the practice interesting. Although, without the knowledge of the inner mechanics, imitating the external act would've been futile, unable to curtail my curiosity, I jumped in.
I disliked the twig thing. It was so distracting, I could focus on nothing else. The discomfort in my wrist slowly traveled to the tip of my index finger. With each dip and snap, it felt as if a large part of my being was snatched away from me. In a matter of seconds or perhaps a couple of minutes, I was left with nothing but a haunting emptiness and a pain so unbearable I would've done anything to get rid of. The whole universe seemed to have shrunk into my fingertip. It kept shrinking making the twig virtually impossible to move. Just once more, I thought. As I snapped it back, the twig pulled all the water from the pond and poured it into me. A tiny bubble arose out of the darkness. Tumbling, randomly rolling, it drifted towards a bright light. Before I could realize it, I was lost - all over again.
"WHOA … WHAT THE HELL …"
An unexpected splash of cold water, though refreshing, felt like an electric shock of a thousand volts. While in meditation, I had twisted my body at an odd angle and fallen into the pond. The sadhu and a few children who had gathered to watch us were laughing their lungs out. A while later, after gathering what had happened, I couldn't help but join them.
That one of a kind deeper than the deepest meditation filled me with so much energy, I would've moved a mountain if I wanted to. I found out later that I had also gained the skill to amplify and direct my energy towards either my Sahasrar or a goal.
The remainder of the sunlight was covering a small hillock with a golden hue. The sadhu indicated that his shelter was atop that hillock. I carefully climbed the seven flights of stairs dug into its side in a zigzag pattern. A small earthen hut greeted me on the top. Its whitewashed walls were decorated with various orange, red, black and yellow symbols. A smooth paste of cow dung was applied on the floor and the courtyard. In the front, there was a large, octagonal, smoky-grey fire-pit. The courtyard was also home to a small tulsi plant and a Shivling. A thorny thicket surrounding the place created a natural perimeter.
I heaved a sigh of relief as the sadhu got off my back. I had fulfilled my responsibility. The sadhu prostrated before the Shivling. Then, he took some water in his right palm, sprinkled it on his injured leg whispering a mantra and removed the bandage. There was no sign of the wound. Before I could utter a word, he said, "Thanks to your exemplary care, I am healed."
The sadhu lit the fire. We performed a rather unusual fire sacrifice. He then asked me to join him for supper, but I respectfully declined. I touched his feet seeking his blessings and his permission to leave. Since I was worried that I may not find my way back to my car, I sought his help. The sadhu asked me to get down the hillock from the opposite side and find a well towards the left. He said, once there, finding my way would be easier.
Typically, wells are in a close vicinity of villages and villages are connected to roads. Once on the road, I expected to find some form of conveyance.
Bidding the sadhu adieu, I got down the hillock, turned towards the left and walked a short distance to find the well. To my utter dismay, there was no village. The road looked deserted. Wondering how to proceed next, I hurriedly surveyed the area. Suddenly, at a distance, I spotted something familiar. It was my car. Shocked, I ran towards it. It was locked. The keys were in my pocket. The doors were not tampered. The odometer did not move. And no, that was definitely not the place where I had parked it. Sending my heart and lungs into hyper-drive, I sprinted back up the hillock where another shock awaited me. There was no sadhu, no hut, no fire-pit, no sign of any human ever living there, just an uneven growth of thorny shrubs.
It was getting dark. There were no other hillocks as far as I could see. That was not my first such experience; therefore I knew, it was pointless standing there. Back into my car, while returning home, I didn't even think about the road. I strongly believed that I can not get lost again, at least not for the time being.
Knowledge must be accepted in all its forms irrespective of its source. Knowledge enables us to progress like an ascetic on the path towards Moksh while not depriving us of the riches we may find along the way.
I was looking for a straight line. Instead, thanks to Lord Vishnu, I learned to navigate the spirals.
