Mummidivaram Yogi
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(Bharanidharan narrates)
PART I
My friend Mahadevan was responsible for my first trip to Mummidivaram. He kindled my dormant desire to have darshan of Bala Yogi. Having been there for Shivaratri darshan, he described his experience with great enthusiasm. “I’d like to go there for the next Shivaratri. Would you come with me?” I asked him.
“If you want, we can have his darshan even earlier,” replied my friend. I was surprised. “What do you mean? I thought Bala Yogi gave darshan only once a year, on the day following Shivaratri. How can we see him before that?” I asked.
“You are right. The public darshan is only once a yeat. But the members of the committee in charge of the arrangements meet the Yogi two months before Shivaratri and report to him the arrangements planned. At that meeting, Bala Yogi gives his own suggestions as well.”
I was intrigued. “Don’t tell me Bala Yogi speaks. I was given to understand that he seldom opens his mouth., or even his eyes, while giving darshan. What you say is news to me.”
Mahadevan smiled. “He does not speak as we do.” He speaks by signs and gestures. He opens his eyes only to look at the committee members. After his meeting with them, he grants darshan to those who have assembled outside the building. This darshan is not much publicized. If you can spare the time in December, we can go. On that day, the crowd will be in hundreds, not in lakhs, hence we will be able to have a comfortable darshan.
“When should we start?” I asked. “The committee darshan is on December 20th (1971). We will have to be at Mummidivaram by the 19th evening.
So the trip was fixed. Mahadevan would leave well in advance with his friends and be at Mummidivaram to receive on the 19th.
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PART II
Our car was speeding on the Madras-Calcutta trunk road. We had passed through Vijayawada, then Eluru, Tadepalligudem and Siddhantam, all in Andhra Pradesh. The road map indicated that we should take a turn to the right somewhere near Siddhantam to reach Amalapuram, a small town in East Godavari district. From there Mummidivaram is but eight miles. We stopped and made enquiries. We were asked to proceed a little further and, on reaching Ravulapelam, take a turn to the right for Amalapuram. Those who travel by train must alight at Rajahmundry, and take a bus or taxi to Mummidivaram. It was nearly 8 p.m. when we reached Mummidivaram.
“That must be Bala Yogi’s ashram. See the festoons of coloured bulbs on the building,” I pointed out. Driver Palani headed for the lights. We passed by green fields and coconut groves before we came to the white building. Mahadevan greeted us with a broad smile.
About a hundred persons had gathered there. They had obviously come for the next day’s darshan. Their dinner over, they went in search of some shelter for their night’s rest.
My friend Bobji, who had wandered around while we chatted, came back to report that we had better return to Amalapuram for the night, as there was no proper accommodation in Mummidivaram.
I went up to greet the President of the Committee, Mr. Balasundaram I.A.S. (who has since died), and the committee members with him. “Sir, we intend staying at Amalapuram for the night. When should we come back for the Yogi’s darshan?” I asked.
“We can’t give a definite answer now. The committee meets tomorrow morning to decide the exact time of darshan,” Mr. Balasundaram told us. “Well, could we see the places connected with the Yogi’s life while waiting?”
“There won’t be any difficulty about that. Mr. Narayanamurti will be pleased to accompany you. He has been acquainted with this place from the days when Bala Yogi sat in deep meditation,” said the President.
PART III
It was nearly nine when we reached Mummidivaram the next morning. In bright daylight, the rich greenness and natural beauty of the surroundings pleased the eye. The thick, cool coconut groves the River Godavari had helped raise provided ideal havens of peace and solitude for spiritual practices.
I found that the crowd around the main building in which the Yogi sat in meditation had swelled. Sweetmeat and tea stalls had sprung up in anticipation of a big crowd. I had been under the impression that the day’s darshan was a secret, but on reaching Mummidivaram, I realized that it was a secret known to all!
We went around the main building, consisting of two separate blocks. We were told that the Bala Yogi sat in a closed hall in front block, while his youger step-brother sat in the adjacent block. The Bala Yogi has been sitting in the same place and posture with his eyes closed, in deep meditation, for the past 25 years and more. The younger Yogi had attained the state of stillness of mind and body about 22 years ago. Both of them had neither food nor sleep since they first sat in that state. It is a yogic feat which eludes all rational analyses.
A high compound wall encircled the two blocks. We entered through its northern gate. There we found a statue of the Bala Yogi. Photographs of the saint, taken every Shivaratri, hung on the wall with the years marked on them. The divine bull Nandi sat looking eastwards. Everyone approached the statue of the Yogi and paid their homage to him. Some broke coconuts, lit camphor, and offered worship. It is from the balcony above that the Bala Yogi gives his Shivaratri darshan.
I saw huge rose bushes with hundreds of blossoms on them. No one plucked a flower from them. A stranger spoke in awe of the luxuriant grow of various flower beds around the building known as Yoga Nilayam.
Narayanmurti joined us here. “We go first to the coconut grove where Bala Yogis one fine morning sat in silence and attained spiritual eminence,” he said leading the way.
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PART IV
Gadigatala Gangayya was born in Mummidivaram to poor parents, who belonged to the lowest rungs in society. To him and his wife Ramamma was born a third son, Subba Rao, in October 1930. He was a mild and quiet boy who helped his father to look after their cattle. In his 16th year, a remarkable spiritual transformation overtook him. Leaving his home, he went to a coconut grove and sat in meditation. He has been in that state ever since.
The coconut grove, where the metamorphosis took place, is about 600 metres south of the main building. In the middle grove there is a tree whose coconuts are red in colour, those of the other trees are greenish. This tree is also the tallest. It was under this tree that Bala Yogi commenced his penance. A small room has been built on the spot in commemoration.
“I have heard that Swamiji’s life was transformed by his seeing the Telugu movie Bhakta Potana. Do you attach any credence to the story?” I
asked Narayanamurti.
“No, it is not a fact. Bala Yogi himself has refuted that version. At that time, a movie named Nara-Narayana was being screened in a nearby theatre. The publicity hand-out carried a picture of Narada in it. Subba Rao was attracted by the picture and had cut it out and pasted it on a sheet of paper. This is the popular legend I have heard. On a particular day, he left his house at three in the morning, ran to this grove and sat under this coconut tree.”
“What happened thereafter?”
“Greatly agitated, his parents and relatives searched for the boy all over the place. When they heard that he was in this grove, they rushed here and entreated him to return. But he sat motionless, like a log of wood, despite scores of big, black ants crawling all over his body. Even when he was lifted and placed on the pyal outside his house, his posture remained the same, unresponsive to the curious crowd that had gathered. Later, a thatched hut was put up on the site where you find the main building now. He has been sitting on that spot for more than 25 years now.”
We talked as we walked towards the cheri where the Yogi was born and brought up. It was situated to the south of Yoga Nilayam. The place has undergone radical changes now. The hut in which he was born is no more there. Narayanamurti pointed out a huge haystack and said that the hut had existed there. I was told a suitable edifice was being planned to mark the site.
A few years after his birth, Subba Rao lost his mother. Gangayya remarried and his second wife mothered five boys and a girl. The eldest among them, Nagabhushanam, is hailed as the junior Bala Yogi.
I met the elder brothers of Bala Yogi and his step-brothers and step-sister. They are all looked after by the committee, which has provided them with houses. The entire family was attired in new clothes on the I met them. I was informed it was the death anniversary of Bala Yogi’s father, and that they were preparing to go to the cemetery to pay their homage.
PART V
Those who had gathered near the entire building were getting restless. The committee had still not decided when the door should be opened for darshan.
The main building has six rooms, three in the rear and three in front. The Bala Yogi is seated on a raised platform, in the middle room of the rear portion. The two rooms on either side are locked. The committee sits in the first room in the front. Its west doorway is locked. They open the lock first, enter, and then throw open the doors of the room where Bala Yogi sits. After the committee members finish their meeting with the Swamiji, they withdraw, and then the waiting public is allowed to have darshan.
There is a room above the one occupied by the Bala Yogi. The rest of the space upstairs is a big hall.
Early that morning, the President had explained to me that only the previous year (1970) the old building had been brought down. The present building was constructed according to a design suggested by the Swamiji.
“Was the Swamiji sitting in the same place during the construction?” I asked. “No, for a couple of weeks he occupied the balcony upstairs,” answered the President. “Do you mean to say you had finished the entire construction in two weeks?” I asked in surprise.
“Subramaniam, one of the committee members present and an engineer, answered my query. “It is really unbelievable. I said we would require at least three months to finish the construction. Swamiji insisted that the building should be completed in fifteen days. I argued that we might have to take more days for centering and concreting. The Swamiji suggested a novel method of construction that did away with centering. To my knowledge, no one had attempted this method, but how could I go against his command? I carried out his orders. The work was over in fifteen days. Many engineers were stunned by the achievement.”
Swamiji had apparently also suggested the type of timber that should be used, and the method of fixing the wooden planks.
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PART VI
The members of the committee came out after their deliberations. And it was stated that the doors would open at 9:30 p.m. for the darshan.
The crowd swelled by the hour. “This is quite unusual this year. Normally we don’t have such a huge gathering for the darshan prior to Shivaratri,” commented a committee member.
A band was beating drums and clashing cymbals as it led a procession being taken out in connection with death anniversary ceremonies of Swamiji’s father. Gangayya’s portrait was ensconced midst floral decorations in a cycle rickshaw. When the procession started, some of the committee members joined it.
There is a small building to the east of the main mandapam called Dhyana Mandir (meditation hall). In the central room, there was a platform with a serpent pedestal on it. It was originally intended for the Swamiji, who was expected to give darshan from there. But it did not work out that way. Now, the building is used by visitors as a dining-cum-rest hall.
We left to have a look around the village. It had grown into a miniature township. Lankamma is the village goddess. Her annual festival is celebrated with great pomp and enthusiasm by the villagers. Contractual servants change their masters during the festival. The shrine is not very impressive; the deity is imposing but benign.
Over the entrance of the Kesava Perumal temple, there is a model of the scene of the Lord Narayana granting darshan to young Dhruva. It symbolizes the tapasvic state of the Bala Yogi. There is small shrine for Shiva to the south of the market. Lord Maheshwara and His consort Umadevi are the main deities there. Idols of Kaala Bhairava, Vinayaka, Durga, Gayatri and Adi Shankaracharya find a place in the outer enclosure.
When I returned to the main building after my tour, I saw the gathering still waiting, passing the time discussing something or the other. Petty shops had sprung up suddenly, with books on Swamiji and pictures of him on sale. The whole place was a tower of Babel, but it was clear that all eagerly awaited the darshan.
I was introduced to a Bulusu Buchi Raju, a local resident, who had done elaborate research into the yogic achievements of the Swamiji. He had, in the beginning entertained doubts about the bona fides of the Swamiji; he was averse to accepting the idea that the Swamiji really lived without food or water. Suspecting a hoax, he kept a close vigil throughout the day. After six months of careful watch, he was convinced that nobody gave food or water stealthily to the young yogi. He also had no doubt whatsoever that the young Swami had conquered hunger, thirst and sleep and become completely immersed in his inner self. Since then, nothing had happened there for him to change his opinion about the genuineness of the Swamiji’s unique mystic powers.
“In the early days, did you observe any miracles here?” I asked. “Oh yes. I have heard locked doors rattle and seen them going up and down. Some days, milk, honey, and turmeric water flowed from the room through a small hole. At other times, perfumed smoke would also emanate from there.”
Later, I met the Swamiji’s elder brother, Venkanna. He stressed that before his brother attained the super-state, he looked and behaved like any other boy of his age.
“Your brother slaved for some wealthy persons in the village. Is there any former employer of his still alive?” I enquired. “Yes, his last employer lives but 400 metres from this place. If you wish, I will take you there,” offered Venkanna.
Both of us went to meet Mattaparty Venkanna Garu, Swamiji’s last employer. He was an old man of ninety. It was in 1946, while working for him, that Subba Raohad left his home suddenly and gone to sit under the coconut tree.
“He was very unassuming and obedient. I fed him twice daily. He did not eat much. He was fair and very charming. Hence we called him ‘Pandu’
(which in Telugu means ‘fruit’).
“How much did you pay him?” I asked. “I never paid him anything in cash,” the old man said.
Swamiji’s brother intervened at this point. “My brother was sent to work for him so that the family debt might be discharged in due course. But when my brother abruptly left his service, I had to toil for the old man and discharge the entire debt.
“When you heard that the boy had left home for good and sought solitude and silence in the coconut grove, did you go to see him?” I asked Venkanna Garu.
“No, we were upset that the boy had turned abnormal while working for us. We were also afraid of scandal in the village, accusing us of being responsible for his mental transformation. So we avoided going to the grove.”
“Am I to understand that you never saw him after he left your service?”
“Oh no, I went several times to see him. But he would not see me. He seldom opens his eyes.”
“What do you think of him now?”
“I am grateful to the Almighty that I have had the good fortune to feed such a holy personage with my own hands.”
By the time I bade the old man goodbye the crowd at the main building was well over a thousand. The President crossed my path with a key in his hand.
“I hope you plan to open the doors at nine-thirty as scheduled,” I enquired.
“I am sorry. There is a slight change in the programme. The committee proposes to meet again at 10 p.m. We intend unlocking the doors at eleven, but the will of the Swamiji is needed for the doors to fully open,” said the President gravely.
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Part VII
Outside the Dhyana Mandir, music concerts and religious discourses were going on side by side. Those who had brought their dinner with them, shared the food, sitting in small family groups. Many covered themselves with woollen blankets to protect themselves against the biting cold. Those who knew they could not have darshan before midnight huddled in the available shelters. The committee members were in great demand, for through their good offices their friends were assured of a convenient darshan.
The time was eight-thirty . My friends and I sat in a corner enjoying the melodious nadaswaram music. Mahadevan informed us that the committee members had gone in and that we must now occupy vantage positions very near the room so that we could gain entrance without difficulty as soon as the doors were opened. “As soon as the members finish their meeting with the Swamiji they will come out and, immediately afterwards, those who are inside the main enclosure, will be allowed to go in for darshan. The rest will be permitted to enter only thereafter. If we get inside the enclosure and wait near the room where the committee meeting is being held, we will be the first to enter ― you may even be allowed to take photographs,” Mahadevan explained.
We got up immediately and followed Mahadevan. The policemen on duty let us in after a question or two. A while later, the committee members disappeared into the room, one by one, and the doors closed behind them. A couple of police constables stood guard.
Our enclosure filled up quickly and was soon overflowing. Each one had used the name of a committee member to get in!
We were hardly twenty at first, soon we were a hundred, and more were pushing their way in.
It was ten. A member who had arrived late for the meeting knocked at the door. Sundaresan, our photograph ran up to him and pleaded, “Will you please let me know when the President unlocks the Swamiji’s room? I want to photograph the event.” The member nodded encouragingly and went in. He was not to be seen at all for the rest of the night!
The doors opened again. Another committee member came out. Sundaresan, who was confident that he had come to take him in, rushed forward and asked him something. The member ignored him completely, walked up to the constable at the gate, used his influence to let inside the enclosure his friends anxiously waiting outside, and disappeared once again into the room!
The crowd in the enclosure had swelled to two hundred and we were all crushed together.
Bobji started muttering impatiently, “What are they doing inside? It is nearing eleven now.”
“Once the members get in they forget the world. Probably they have already opened the lock and may be waiting for the doors to relent. If the Swamiji does not will it, they cannot open the doors, however much they might try. It may take two or even four hours. Sometime one may have to wait even for two days,” said Natarajan, a retired I.A.S. officer from Madras. He had been an annual visitor to Mummidivaram for many years now.
The clock struck twelve. The waiting public grew more and more restive.
Just then a sickly person, with unsteady steps, was led in by a couple of assistants. We were told that he was one of the committee members and that he had come from his sickbed, to have darshan of the Swamiji. Subbaraju, brother of the junior Bala Yogi, accompanied this member to ensure his entry into the committee room. Subbaraju conducted him into the room, and came out after five minutes.
Natarajan signalled Subbaraju to come closer and enquired, “Is the meeting still going on? Have they unlocked the room or not?”
Subbaraju smiled derisively. “It is two hours since the members went into the Swamiji’s chamber. Today the door gave way as soon as it was unlocked. They are engaged in conversation with Swamiji.” All of us cut a very sorry figure. Poor Sundaresan. He had been hoping to get a scoop by photographing the unlocking ceremony!
The news that the committee members were with the Swamiji spread among the crowd like wild fire. A new confidence overtook them; everyone stirred to life.
“How long do the committee members usually remain with the Swamiji?” I asked Natarajan.
“If a big crowd waits outside, Swamiji prefers to have the darshan first and then the meeting. If, however, he decides to give priority to the meeting, it might extend up to four or five in the morning,” answered Natarajan.
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Part VIII
When, after these nightmarish experiences, I entered the chamber I found myself face to face with the embodiment of abiding peace and tranquility. The Yogi was seated motionless, like a statue ‘far from the madding crowd’. He looked like one whose mind was firmly fixed in transcendental meditation. He appeared to have chosen the metaphysical world for his permanent abode. All my thoughts vanished like dew before the rising sun the moment I saw the statue-like Swamiji. I felt as if I was confronting own soul-force that had assumed human form.
Because of my familiarity with photographs of Swamiji in that posture, I was not taken aback initially. But when the thought that he had been sitting there for over 25 years without food or water, light or ventilation, crossed my mind, I was overawed. ‘How can he exist like this?’ was the question uppermost in my mind. There were no answers. Instead, I stood helplessly before the riddle of all riddles.
Though the Bala Yogi sits in yogic silence, his surroundings present a modern look. The walls close to the platform on which he sits, the steps leading to it, and the floor are of shiny milk-white slabs, because of which the entire electrically-lit chamber is aglow. Against the magnificent white backdrop, his presence resembles a blooming red lotus in the centre of a milky ocean.
His incredibly long hair is one foot thick and flows from his head some six or seven feet like a dark python. It is neither unruly nor matted, but seems to have been plaited patiently by someone.
The Bala Yogi sits on an impressive tiger skin spread on the platform. The tiger’s head is big and awe-inspiring.
At the eastern end of the platform is a small image of Lord Krishna. I close my eyes for a split second. Lord Narayana stands in his majestic cosmic form in the place of Krishna’s image.
I open my eyes, and drink deep of the peace writ large on Bala Yogi’s face.
Has he been sitting here for the past 25 years without hunger, without thirst? What an extraordinary miracle in this scientific age! Can a human being exist like this? We refer to a man setting foot on the moon as a rare feat. What has the rationalistic world to say about this remarkable achievement of the human spirit?
My thoughts relentlessly pursue these questions; but the mystery will not resolve itself. I find myself in a maze and the way out only grows more and more elusive.
I glance around the room. There are no large windows. In the wall at the back there are two small ventilators, closed and hooked. The doors of the rooms on either side are also bolted securely.
I have been told that old books and clothes presented to Swamiji by his devotees had been dumped in one of the rooms.
I looked at Swamiji’s body very closely. He hadn’t taken a bath for 25 years! But he appeared fresh and bright, as if he had just then had his bath and had dressed in clean clothes. During the first month of his transformation, he had bathed daily in the Godavari Canal which runs in front of the ashram. Later, he gave up the habit. During those initial days, his father placed a cup of milk on the window sill from outside. On some days, the cup would be found empty; on other days, the milk would still be there. In course of time, that practice too stopped.
In the beginning, the room was not locked from outside. The Yogi remained in an ascetic trance for 32 months at a stretch. When he opened his eyes, he told the first man whom he saw to lock the room from outside, as he disliked persons touching and disturbing him. But he agreed to grant darshan between four and six every morning. As the curious visitors were not orderly, he put an end to that practice too.
There developed a serious difference of opinion between the local residents and Swamiji’s relatives about keeping the room locked. One day, when it led to a clash, the police had to intervene.
That brought the then Collector of East Godavari district, the Late Mr. D. Balasundaram, I.A.S. (not to be confused with the president of the committee during this visit of mine to Mummidivaram), to the village for the first time. He suggested setting up the committee. The Bala Yogi then agreed to grant darshan to the public the day after Shivratri, after four in the morning up to midnight. It was in this connection that the practice of the committee meeting him to make the necessary arrangements began. And he then agreed to give a darshan on this occasion too. It was accordingly named the ‘darshan prior to Shivaratri’.
It was this darshan I was enjoying now. I saw his lips part a little. There was a minute movement in his throat, as if he was swallowing saliva. His hands were interlocked tightly. But I saw the left thumb shake. When even these insignificant movements of his limbs thrilled us, how joyous we would feel if we could see him open his eyes and speak with gestures! “How lucky the commitee members are!” I mused.
I was standing very close to the platform on which he was sitting. I wanted to go nearer and observe him at close quarters, but his halo of austerity held me back. But not the crowd in the front room. They were shouting and pushing to get in. In their enthusiasm, they seemed to have forgotten their proximity to a rare yogi and behaved like irresponsible urchins. Some even throw small coins on Swamiji’s person. Many who fell flat on the ground in obeisance, would not move out of the way. The new entrants chased away those who had already had darshan. But how could they get out? A big crowd stood there blocking the entrance. It was a traffic jam. Commotion prevailed.
But like a sturdy and immovable lighthouse that dares the onslaught of the roaring waves, the Swamiji sat in perfect peace amidst the din and noise, emitting a spiritual light all around.
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PART IX
The three of us somehow managed to get out of the room and hastened to the darshan of the junior Yogi. The moment the senior Swamiji’s darshan started, the junior Yogi’s room was also thrown open. The committee had constructed a separate balcony for him to occupy on the day after Shivaratri for the people to have his darshan also, but he would not oblige. He had made it very clear that anybody who was so interested should come to his room for darshan.
On that day, there was overcrowding and order could not be restored in the chaotic queue. The endless shouting exasperated the policemen on duty. They left their posts temporarily in sheer disgust and exhaustion. Hence, for some time, only the strong and the valiant could gain entry into the junior Yogi’s room. Later, partial order was restored and, after some pushing and shoving , we too managed to get in and have his darshan!
In 1950, during the Shivaratri darshan of the senior Swamiji, his step-brother Nagabhushanam sat in front of him, in the same posture, deep meditation with his eyes closed. At that moment, he had also entered into a yogic trance, in which he has sat ever since, motionless without food or water. Two brothers, one after the other, had attained spiritual eminence. Their father, Gadigatala Gangayya, must indeed have done many a good deed in his previous birth.
The junior Yogi sits erect as though made of granite. Only if you have an eye for it you can see him breathe very softly. He does not open his eyes at all. Nor does he make any gestures with his hands.
In his presence, too, a thousand thoughts crossed my mind. Again an unsolvable riddle confronted me. Wondering about this mystery, fearing the unknown powers of the mystic and the occult, I came out humbled by the unseen forces that shape our destiny.
It was three in the morning when we left for Madras. The only thought uppermost in our minds was that we should come back to Mummidivaram for Shivaratri darshan.
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PART X
On Shivaratri day (February, 1972) we were again at Mummidivaram. As we approached the village, we saw a huge crowd of people proceeding towards Bala Yogi’s ashram. Posses of policemen posted for bandobust duty were busy trying to regulate the unmanageable crowd. Already, hundreds of persons were sitting in a queue inside the enclosures opposite the main building.
“The darshan is to take place only at four tomorrow morning. See how people have taken vantage positions already,” I wondered aloud.
A local person near me responded, “You are mistaken, Sir; these persons have been here since 11 a.m. They have occupied the front positions, braving the weather, in order to have the first darshan of the Swamiji.”
The sitting queue was lengthening each minute. It meandered its way to an open ground which was already overflowing with devotees.
Many persons stood in groups, eagerly waiting to catch the eyes of a committee member. A person needs the favour of a committee member to enter the compound of the main building. Once are inside, you are sure of a ‘room darshan’. The committee members were seen sending secret information to friends and relatives as to where and when they had to be present to enter the compound without much difficulty.
Suddenly a fleet of cars and jeeps screeched to a stop. Police officials stood at attention and saluted. High-ranking government and police officers got down from the cars accompanied by their families. A separate busload of chairs and sofas arrived almost immediately afterwards. The attendants arranged them in the tents already pitched inside the compound. Why would anyone suffer in the cold when he wields power and influence?
I met the President and asked him when the door would be open that night.
“We intend opening exactly at three in the morning. We hope the darshan will start almost immediately,” he told me.
“You may unlock at three. Suppose it takes time for the doors to open, you will have to wait, won’t you?”
“No, today the doors will open at once. During the December meeting, the Swamiji had instructed us to unlock the door exactly at three for Shivaratri darshan. Hence we hope we will not have to wait,” he said confidently and went to meet some others wanting to see him.
We waited and listened to the bhajans being sung inside. Some distance away, a man was delivering a religious discourse. But what caught our attention and that of most others was a musical drama enacted by one Satyanarayana. It was akin to the rural street drama of Tamil Nadu known as therukoothu. But this was mono-acting; one character spoke, sang and acted the story of the Lord of the Seven Hills. The way he sang, his delivery of the dialogue and his graceful gestures held our attention. Though he spoke in an alien tongue, we were enchanted.
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PART XI
We were conducted into the compound as early as 11 p.m. I saw some prominent Tamil faces in the gathering. I was happy to meet O.V. Alagesan, a former Central minister, and N. Mahalingam, the well-known industrialist.
“After reading of your experiences at Mummidivaram, I was tempted to come,” said the former minister.
“I have heard a lot about Bala Yogi. But after going through your articles I was impressed by his glorious achievements. So here I am for Shivaratri darshan,” explained the industrialist.
My journalist friend Bhagirathan, who had accompanied the two VIPs, said, “Generally I agree with what you write. But in an article you mentioned, as something of a wonder, Bala Yogi’s advice to lay concrete without the aid of centering. This is not an original idea or anything extraordinary. Even in our village the custom of constructing the roof using the support of wooden planks is in vogue. In Bangalore too, they lay concrete without centering.”
“Maybe. But doesn’t it surprise you that an illiterate cowherd boy who has not moved out of his village and locked himself up in a room 25 years ago, a man who has been completely unexposed to the outside world, had suggested this novel construction technique?” I asked, but he responded only with a smile.
“It is a wonder of wonders that a human being could sit like this for 25 years without food and water. I haven’t heard of such a phenomenon before. Do you know anybody else who has such an achievement to his credit?” Alagesan enquired.
“No, not that I know of. His present spiritual attainment is most unbelievable.”
“There cannot be a second opinion about that,” I said.
“Sir, is it a fact that he never eats anything, or...? Bhagirathan’s voice trailed off.
“Be bold about what you want to ask. When confronted with such an inexplicable phenomenon, those who depend on the intellect alone for guidance are likely to be sceptical about things which elude rational analysis. Only when we spiritualise our way of thinking, might the truth be revealed to us,” I said in reply.
I saw that such doubts lurked in the minds of many. A discussion ensued among them as to how the Swamiji came to the balcony from his room. Each had his own version. Some even felt that the Swamiji was physically lifted from his chamber and placed in the balcony!
There is a spiral staircase below the balcony. Once a year this staircase is used by those who dust and clean the balcony. Nobody has seen the Swamiji use the steps. It is still a mystery as to how he comes and occupies his seat on the balcony.
At 2.45 a.m. the President and other members went into the committee room. Exactly at three, after a member broke a coconut as a good augury, the President unlocked the door and gently pushed. It opened instantaneously.
After a while, those waiting outside were allowed to go in. The crowd was thicker than it was during the December darshan. There was greater confusion, worse regulation, and a deafening noise. This time I could see the Swamiji only from a distance. He was sitting as I saw him last. Only his body seemed to have shrunk a little.
When our darshan of both the senior and the junior Swamijis was over it was four o’clock. The several lakhs of people who had gathered outside stood in anxious expectation, gazing at the balcony. The bamboo screens put up on the sides of the balcony were removed and the collapsible gates opened. Some committee members were seen dusting the place with their upper cloths. Bala Yogi was expected there at any moment.
The wooden shutters would be removed as soon as the Swamiji came to the balcony. Some prominent persons were peeping through small holes to find out if he had already arrived there.
It was four-thirty. The impatient crowd became restive and their excitement worked them up to a crazy pitch.
It was five. Still the Swamiji had not arrived. Nobody could guess the reason for the delay. “Normally he is here by four. Perhaps he is engaged with the committee members.” There were many surmises, many opinions, many doubts.
Suddenly the loudspeakers blared. “The Swamiji will give darshan in half an hour’s time.”
The activity in the balcony subsided. A comparative quiet descended on the waiting crowd. After half an hour the shutters were removed. And there sat the Bala Yogi in a throne shaped like the Naga asana — the serpent pose — radiant like the rising sun.
The lakhs of admirers who had kept awake throughout the night were in ecstasy. It was as as if they were blessed with the darshan of Shiva himself on Shivaratri day.
The serpentine queue started moving. Each one climbed the steps, had a very close soul-filling view of the Swamiji, descended on the other side, went to the adjacent building and, after darshan of the junior Swamiji, went home immensely satisfied with he visit.
Later, I had occasion to exchange a few words with one of the committee members from Tamil Nadu. I asked him out of curiosity, “You were inside all the time. Did you notice how the Swamiji came to the balcony?”
“No, sir, it is impossible to know. After meeting the Swamiji, we came out and locked the door from outside. We couldn’t see how he went up. I sat very near him in the balcony and observed his feet minutely. There was not a single particle of dust on them. If he had walked through the room and up the staircase which had been closed for a year, however we might have cleaned it, how do you account for the absence of even a small particle of dust? I don’t believe he walked up to the balcony,” he said earnestly.
And so, the mystique remains unresolved!