SERPENT FIRE

The board, plain and simple,  hung loosely from a lamp post. “SNAX COT HERE -Rs. 50/=”, it read, with the letters intertwined with what seemed to be the figure of a snake. Ben Branson -BB for short- took a little time to figure out that the board advertised the services of a snake-catcher. At Rs.50/= per snake. A bargain perhaps – BB wouldn’t know, he was new to these parts. The taxi, on its way to the Ashram on a very hot day, had stopped by the wayside. The driver had spotted a seller of green coconuts and decided to stop.

Ben Branson had come a long way – all the way from Des Moines, Iowa, U.S.A. –  and here he was,  on his way to the Ashram near Bangalore.  He had made all his travel arrangements through the Internet; wonderful thing that is, he thought.  If it hadn’t been for the Internet, he would never have heard of Babaji, either.

He still remembered that day when he had made that Google Search for ‘Guru’, and stumbled on to Babaji’s web-site. It was  extraordinary – the effect that Babaji’s picture produced on him – he had no idea that a face could so entrap his mind! For that bearded, white-robed figure kept recurring in his dreams – till he started corresponding to the Ashram through e-mail. Then there was some respite: he  signed up for the Beginner’s e-mail course in Kundalini Yoga offered by the Ashram, and  passed the exams with flying colors. Considering that he had barely managed to pass his High School, this was a satisfying achievement.

The Advanced course could be taken up only in person, and no, they did not have any branches of the Ashram in the U.S.A. He would have to travel to India if he wanted to join in. And yes, they would make arrangements for him to be picked up at the airport. And accommodation and food would be available at modest rates. He could check out these facilities on their web-site: nice jpeg  pictures of clean, white buildings!

He hadn’t quite made up his mind on this Advanced course thing – but then, that bearded figure started haunting him again in his dreams. Money was really no problem for him – he earned a lot working as a building contractor. Perhaps he would find it difficult to get away for forty days, though – that was the duration of the course. He had to budget for about sixty days actually, adding in travel time, and maybe some sight-seeing. But somehow things had fallen into place once he had made up his mind to sign on for the Advanced Course – Babaji’s grace, perhaps…

And despite all the horror stories he had heard about traveling into India, things hadn’t been too bad. He had no trouble at Mumbai’s international airport, and his connecting flight to Bangalore had stuck to its schedule. There had not been much time to take in anything of Mumbai; but Bangalore was nice. Pleasant, if narrow roads and everyone seemed to understand some English!  

And now here he was, standing in the afternoon sun, drinking coconut-water, and taking-in the sights and smells of India. What would Amy have thought of him now. She would have called him a fool, a stupid fool, he decided. She always considered him s-t-o-o-p-i-d, even when he started making money, and built her that grand house. She always felt she was too good for me, he thought bitterly. She wanted to marry Jason Carruthers – top of the class in School, and he went on to become a Professor at Yale – but JC would have none of her. And BB had caught her on the rebound. She was beautiful then, you had to hand it to her…

His thoughts trailed away, as his attention was caught by a troop of monkeys, scrambling across the road. The traffic was chaotic: trucks and buses streamed endlessly to-and-fro. The monkeys – there were ten of them, if you left out the babies – crossed the road in style. The traffic stopped for a while, automatically, and then resumed, as soon as the last monkey had completed crossing the road. No one seemed to care – what a sensation this would have caused back home! Then there were the cows -, they were like slow-floating debris in the flow of traffic – every vehicle and every pedestrian deftly side-stepped the  cattle, no one ever stopped for them. The honking never seemed to stop – everyone seemed to have a foot pushed hard on the accelerator, and one hand continuously pressed on the horn…

The coconut seller stretched out his hand and took the coconut back. Holding the nut in his left hand, he brought the sickle down onto the nut with a swift stroke, splitting it open. He scooped the coconut meat out with a ladle made from coconut husk, and offered it to BB, grinning broadly all the while. It had been some time since Somayya had served coconuts to a Saheb. And who knows, he might just pay him twice the usual rate of ten rupees. But that was not to be. The Saheb turned to the driver, who picked on Somayya, and cursing him roundly, paid him the standard rate.  BB had no idea of what had happened, nor had he any idea of what to do with the coconut meat.

’Let’s go, Saheb!, ‘ the driver said and the little car set off again. The Ashram was still an hour’s drive away. It had been a tiring trip, and before he knew it, BB was fast asleep. By the time, the car swept through the imposing Ashram gates, the sun had gone down. BB struggled to wakefulness, as the driver shook him awake gently.

Babaji had his vices, but he didn’t count austerity among them – his Ashram was just as opulent as the photographs had suggested. Every room was expensively and tastefully furnished. The furniture was modern, the bathroom fittings opulent, the air-conditioning was just right, and there was a lovely view of a pond from his window. And the place was very quiet – just perfect for a holiday, BB thought, as he settled in for the night. Babaji would see him to-morrow…

In the morning, he was told that there were fifteen people who were attending this Advanced course along with him.  He was given a beautifully printed book detailing the shape which the course would take.  The  schedule took care of practically every minute of the day from 5 a.m. – when he was expected to get up – right upto 10 p.m., when he was expected to go to bed.

Every day’s schedule began with what the Ashramites, in truly modern fashion, called a ‘one-on-one’ with Babaji. Then there was to be a Yoga session – luckily, he had kept himself fairly fit, and although he expected to find the sitting postures difficult, he felt that he should have no problem with the more vigorous asanas, he reckoned. Breakfast was to follow half an hour later – strictly vegetarian, not even the hint of an egg. That would be tough! After breakfast was the Lecture Session. In the afternoon, after lunch, between 2 and 3 o’clock was the time for reflection, manana.  Perhaps he could fit in a snooze there…

And from the second day onwards, between 4 and 5 o’clock, after a break for tea, there would be quizzes, the schedule announced.  That would be terrible – he had hated exams all his life! But maybe things would be easy, and he would just have to tick things, and not write essays. Then one more short yoga session was scheduled, to be followed in the night, from 6 o’clock to 8 o’clock, by intensive nidhidyasana sessions. The first day’s night session was titled intriguingly, ‘Introduction to the Circle of Silence’…

As he went through the book, he heard his name being called out. Time to meet Babaji! This session lasted just five minutes: Babaji smiled at him, and the two of them sat in silence. None of the questions that had so burnt his mind seemed sensible any more – not that he had been mesmerized, or anything, but he did not want  to speak! Strange! to think that he had traveled all this way to see Babaji, and then to  have merely sat silently in front of him…

Before the end of the first week, he knew more about asanas and pranayama   than he ever thought he would. By the end of the second week, what he did not know about bandhas, mudras  and kriyas could have been written in a short paragraph  – this, at any rate, was the impression that he got. Not even when he was studying for his Professional Practice exam back in the U.S.  had he worked so hard. And yet, he did not feel exhausted – it was a strange feeling. The third and fourth weeks saw him learning about the chakras, right from the  mooladhara tothe sahasrara.

Almost before he knew it, it was the last day of his course. Every day, for the last thirty-nine days, he had sat in front of Babaji for the regulation five minutes. And every time, the effect had been the same. He just couldn’t -or didn’t – ask him anything. Today, there was to be another one-on-one session with Babaji, and this time, it was scheduled to last for half-an-hour, with nothing else to follow. Perhaps today would be the day when he would get to ask questions…

But after ten minutes of silent meditation, it was Babaji who asked the questions, in his famous bass voice, rendered even more beautiful by years of Yogic practice.

”Would you”, Babaji asked, “start a branch of the Ashram in the U.S.A.? You could charge people $500 for a non-residential course.  And pay $250 as royalty charges to the Bangalore Ashram. Of course, if you are ready, we can offer fully residential courses, too. And the commission and the fees would be correspondingly higher…”

BB was stunned. He had been expecting anything but this business proposition…

”Good money, no? And give-and-take keeps everyone happy!”. Babaji was smiling his famous smile, and looking directly and deeply into BB’s eyes.

Then BB remembered that sign-board that he had seen on his way to the Ashram -“SNAX COT HERE -Rs. 50/=”.  Some snake, he had really caught; and he had paid more than he would ever have for a room full of crocodile skins! He began to laugh, even as the fire in his spine twisted and turned, and didn’t stop…