Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I could finally speak again, I ordered a fresh lime juice with Limca,
and then another.
'That's better,' I gasped to the proprietor, who looked impressed.
He offered me another Campa Cola for half price.
'You have some thirst, isn't it?' he observed.
Yogi Ramsuratkumar was puffing and fanning in his usual spot at
sunset.
'I walked around the mountain,' I told him.
'Oh! Oh! Is it so?'
'Have you ever walked around it yourself?'
'It is far,' he replied. 'The heat will make you ill.'
'Thanks.' I drummed my fingers on the bench. 'So why did you
tell me to walk around it instead of up it?'
'Who listens to this beggar?'
I decided against answering this and asked about the
sadhus
I'd
met.
'Oh! Oh! You honour this beggar's heart.'
He then told me the yogi in the cave was 768 years old. I found
that very hard to believe.
He laughed insanely, repeating, 'Hard to believe! Oh! Oh! It
is
hard to believe - this is so . . .'
'Have you anything else to tell me?' I asked him. 'I'm leaving
tomorrow.'
He then asked me what his name was. I told him. He made me
repeat it nine times, possibly so that I would not forget it.
'Yogi Ramsuratkumar.'
'Oh! Oh! You are too kind to this old beggar. When you write
about him, you must write only the truth.'
'When I
write
- ?' At the time I had no such intention.
He laughed, nodding.
Seventeen years later, I finally did just what he asked.
The old man at the ashram also seemed to know more about my
future than I did: 'I look forward too much for your book,' he said.
'What book?'
'Are you not writing about Bhagavan?'
I shook my head.
