Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
a large, shrill bell, and everyone stood, chanting unintelligible words.
The yogi opened his eyes, raising his right hand as if in greeting, its
clawed fingers making the gesture somewhat primitively hostile, too
- although it was the traditional blessing of a guru or god. The eyes
were moist and boyish, but curiously devoid of human content - the
lights were on, but no one was home.
Next, people formed a line on the right-hand side of the bed,
humbly touching the yogi's feet and placing their offerings of
flowers, coconuts, and crumpled rupees upon the moth-eaten tiger
skins. I thought of the parable about the woman and her mite. What
did he
do
with all those coconuts?
An official-looking man in a lurid red shirt and drastically flared
pink trousers tugged at my sleeve, saying, 'You may ask Bhagavan
some question - if you are wishing.'
Although the yogi did not seem to notice my big pale clumsy
Western face, I felt as obvious as a Zulu in a synagogue among all
these tiny Karnatakan villagers. What would I ask him, my first
Indian holy man? I'd better make it good . . .
'What is Truth?' I finally said. It was, after all, what Pilate had
asked Christ.
The official-looking man bent over to mutter in the yogi's ear.
The yogi blinked. I wondered if he
could
speak, if perhaps I was
supposed to receive the vital answer telepathically. Then he emitted
a low, husky growl of syllables, still staring straight ahead.
'His Holiness say,' the man proudly told me, 'for you to meditate
more and find out.' Then he took what looked like a lump of chalk
from a small pile near the yogi's knee and presented it to me with a
flourish. I thanked this translator for the chalk and for Baby Siva's
wise words, returning to stand in the throng of adoring faces. It was
a good all-purpose answer, and I assuaged my mounting
disappointment by conceding that it could well be the
only
answer
there was. After all, Jesus hadn't even
replied
to Pilate's question . . .
Suddenly, however, quite loudly and clearly, the yogi said, '
Siva!
'
in a big, hollow, booming voice. Was he reading my thoughts? And
then what? The god's name thundered around that hushed and
reverent space, plucking at the nerves of my spine like a mad harpist.
I was definitely glad to be outside again, beneath one of those
