I fell in love so many times in India with the most unusual of beings. It was late in March of 2009 at Ram Jhula, a typical evening in India along the Ganges where the Mother is celebrated everyday as the sun sets. A grand arrati was about to be performed at a popular ghatt where a huge statue of a very handsome Shiva resides. People were milling about, families were settling in, children were running around and monks were gathering. When I would see these monks cloistering together, sometimes I would wonder if Shantji felt any burden by my presence. A swami traveling with a western women did raise a few eyebrows, so I imagined that his usual freedom of joining any circle of monks was somewhat inhibited. Much to my delight, I found, more often than not, these divine beings welcomed me most graciously.
Everyday in India for me was a new adventure filled an entire cast of eclectic characters. Shantji has this way of attracting people and making friends instantly. While waiting for the ceremony to begin, Shantji wanted to find someone to share a chillum with, and that was usually more difficult with me. I took this opportunity to wander through some shops, an activity Shantji had no interest in, so we went our separate ways and made a plan to meet up shortly. Of course, when I found him again he was with a new friend. Shantji greeted me cheerfully, singing the praises of this tall Baba walking with him. His thin body was wrapped in an orange cloth with a dirty salmon colored shawl tied around his shoulders. He carried a walking stick and one of those cotton shoulder bags you saw many monks with. I would come to learn this bag contained a unique collection of things. I was always curious what these wandering monks carried with them. I wonder for myself if everything I owned I carried with me, what belongings would be treasured?
The most unusual thing about this wandering Baba’s appearance was that he only had one eye, but before I even noticed that, I was greeted with the warmth of his smile. What touched me the most about One-Eyed Baba was how he immediately accepted me like he was just walking along the path in Ram Jhula that evening waiting for Shantji and I to arrive. It did not matter to him where I came from or who I was. There were no pretenses, no formalities… We were just instant friends.
One-Eyed Baba wanted to show us were he lived. We walked to an alley way. He removed his shawl and laid it down for Shantji and I to sit upon. This was where he lived. The interesting thing for me was that I did not feel sorry for him. He was not unhappy about his lot in life. I could sense his contentment and his freedom in being. If you are free, what do you need?
A friend of his joined us, a younger, kind of mysterious looking baba… So, there we sat the four of us in the alley way smoking a chillum together seeming to those passersby an odd group. I was drawing attention and this made me uncomfortable. Being American, I was concerned about smoking in public. Noticing my discomfort, One-Eyed Baba compassionately assured me everything was fine and there were no worries. It was interesting that I felt no uneasiness sitting in that alley way until I noticed the concern and disapproval from onlookers. In this I see my own bondage, a bondage not had by the company I was with. We left that evening feeling charmed by the One-eyed Baba laughing and blissing out sharing our stories of our new friend as we made our long walk back to Laxman Jhula.
We did not see One-Eyed Baba again until the day we decided to leave Rishikesh and head back to Haridwar. My quest to find a bag to carry my newly acquired yoga mat took us back through Ram Jhula. He saw us in the crowd, and just like that… there we were, old friends meeting up again. We decided to spend some time with him before leaving and found a sweet spot on some rocks overlooking the Ganges just below the bridge at Ram Jhula.
It was a beautiful day with a much appreciated, soft breeze. It seemed like it was always sunny in India and in the afternoons that sun could be intense. One-Eyed Baba was with his sidekick, the mysterious looking one. I think of him as Alibaba Baba, because he had a middle-eastern look about him. I wondered if he had a sword tucked away in his robe. There were many people around. Some were taking a dip, some were just watching the Ganges flow, and children were selling boats made with palm leaves that held flowers and incense. Shantji wanted to take his daily dip in the river, and I got a flower boat to give my offerings to the Mother.
Sitting on the rocks with One-Eyed Baba and Alibaba I looked at the pearl malas Alibaba made and hung loose with my friends without care or concern. People seemed to be just as intrigued as before with how different I was from the company I was keeping. Somehow it did not bother me this time. I noticed that my comfort with the situation made the onlookers more comfortable with it, and instead of feeling their judgment I sensed their entertainment with the juxtaposition of the blonde with the monks. Neither of them spoke English and I no Hindi, but as I already knew, this did not make much difference. Consciousness knows no language barriers.
Out of his magical bag, One-Eyed Baba showed me some of his belongings. In this bag he had a book, a picture of a saint (I cannot remember which one), and tin of rose salve which he gave to me. We had difficulty getting it to open but finally did, and it smelled delicious. I felt so honored to receive this gift. He gave it with such love.
Shantji came back to join us, and Alibaba left. One-Eyed Baba and Shantji got involved in a conversation in Hindi. I was distracted by a handsome American man sitting on a nearby rock. More than him, I was attracted to the Papaya he was cutting up. That papaya looked so refreshing, and I was hungry too. I guess the man caught my thought vibrations and offered me some. I was learning be shameless from Shantji so when I went over to get my piece of papaya, I asked for some for my friends as well. We exchanged our brief stories of where we were from and how we came to be in India and what we were doing in Rishikesh, and then I went back to our rock with papaya in hand.
During my absence it seemed One-Eyed Baba had quite a story to tell Shantji. I came back to see a touching site of One-Eyed Baba crying with his head in Shantji’s lap. Shantji was soothing him, and One-Eyed Baba was expressing his gratitude and appreciation for Shantji. Apparently, he had been carrying something heavy in his heart and needed someone to tell. One thing it does not take long to understand about Shantji is that he is not judgmental and whatever it is, he can take it. Shantji has a transcendental quality about him that helps others to transcend their own darkness. Apparently, One-Eyed Baba had carried this for a long time and finally he was relieved. What Shantji did for One-Eyed Baba that day is the highest way to serve a fellow being, and all he did was to be his Self. I like to think One-Eyed Baba was set free that day.
It was time to get on with our journey back to Haridwar. The three of us crossed the bridge over to Rishikesh. We wanted to share a sugarcane juice together before we parted. The crowd was thick and bustling. Unfortunately, we found a rickshaw before we found a juice vendor, and in a hurried way, got on the rickshaw saying our goodbyes to One-Eyed Baba in the street. Shantji invited him to visit Yogalaya in Allahabad. We hoped he would come but doubted that he would. I think Shantji and I both regretted not sharing that juice with him before we left.
The next year I went back to Ram Jhula. Even though I knew the chances were slim, because One-Eyed Baba was a wanderer, I had hoped to find him there again. I disappointingly did not, but he remains forever mystical in my memory. To this day I have the tin he gave me. Every now and then I pry it open to see the pretty pink salve, smell it’s lovely, rose scent and remember One-Eyed Baba, Ram Jhula, that soft breeze, the beautiful blue green river, and that moment in time.
