Post by Plumeria on Aug 31, 2006 21:16:32 GMT -1
I'd like to share this touching story I have found on a Sanskrit Mantra site (http://www.sanskritmantra.com/index.shtml)
Enjoy!
Mohan flipped open the straight razor exposing the glistening blade to the slanted shafts of early morning sun. Briefly inspecting it for signs of minute overnight rust, he satisfied himself that it was fine, and grasping a thick leather sharpening strap with a taut, automatic grip, he began to slap the blade across it, back and forth, back and forth. The heat of friction on the blade quickly made the handle grow warm. Stopping momentarily, he examined the cooling blade again with squinting eyes, then repeated the practice until he was satisfied that the blade was uniformly sharp from tip to base. Finished with his first official daily morning task, he closed the razor and placed it snugly in the pocket of his white kurta (tunic). He then picked up the jug he used every morning to carry water from the Ganges back to his station on the concrete walk that followed the course of the river for miles and headed toward the majestic, flowing river.
Mohan waded into the flow of eternal blessings called the Ganges River, sloshing in steadily until the water was mid-calf. Then he stooped and dipped his jug into the water and waited while it filled with a translucent, slightly brownish liquid. After just a few seconds he straightened up and made his way back to his station, the place where he had been for the last five years, every day, dawn ‘til dusk. He performed this same routine every day unless the winter cold became so biting that he was forced to retreat to his modest hut on the outskirts of town.
Mohan knew that this would be a busy day. Ekadashi fasting day was tomorrow, and the full moon of Guru Purnima was quickly approaching. Devotees of every description would be arriving here like sheets of rain driven before an uneven wind, each needing to have their heads shaved before they took their ceremonial dip at Brahma Ghat.
Up and down the river walk in Hardwar, vendors of all kinds set up their wares in preparation for the day’s activities. One sold statues of gods and goddesses. Another offered small packets of quickly-igniting wooden sticks for offering into sacrificial fires. Then there were the sellers of incense, various cloths and shawls, snacks, and cups of tea for the weary. Itinerant priests of questionable training set up small stations to offer different kinds of worship for travelers who were unsophisticated enough to know that the local temples provided everything they needed free of charge.
Mohan was twenty-five, single, orphaned, and strangely content for a man of humble means. He had been on his own from the time his parents died after being hit by a car when he was just fifteen. Likeable, with an engaging grin and an effortless work ethic, Mohan had been taken in by Shivadas, a local Ganges Barber, and apprenticed for five years. When his elderly benefactor had died suddenly from a heart attack, it was entirely natural that Mohan assume the station and the duties of his teacher, which he did with permission of his teacher’s widow combined with a promise to pray for them every day. He was faithful in that vow and shared a portion of his earnings with her.
Now he was the Ganges Barber that everyone knew and respected. Whether following the path of Shiva, or worshipping Lakshmi, or praising Durga, or on a pilgrimage offering homage to Krishna, Mohan knew the prayers and rituals central to each. Over his years of apprenticeship, he had studiously learned the main mantra prayers for each of the deities. Thus, when a customer would approach him, Mohan would ask the purpose of the pilgrim’s visit to Hardwar and would soon be told the deity of choice of the traveler. If one would say that he or she was asking the blessings of Durga, Mohan would chant:
Om Dum Durgayei Namaha
[Ohm Doom Door-yea-yea Nah-mah-ha]
Om and salutations to she who is beautiful to the seeker of truth and terrible in appearance to those who would injure devotees of truth.
Om Katya Inicha Vidmahae Kanya Kumaryei-cha Dhimahi, Tanno Durgihi Prachodayat
[Om Kaht-yah-ee-nee-cha Vid-mah-hei Kahn-yah Koo-mahr-yea-cha Dhee-mah-hee Tah-noh Door-gee-hee Prah-choh-dah-yaht]
Om and salutations to she who is beautiful to the seeker of truth and terrible in appearance kindly impel us toward enlightenment and inform our intellect with your truth.
Duly impressed and feeling at home, the devotee would usually hire Mohan for a riverside shave on the spot. It nearly always worked.
Mohan himself had no preference among the gods and goddesses. He viewed any favoritism on his part as the road to ruin. What if one god should be jealous of another? Or what if one particular goddess should not like him preferring some other goddess because of a feud between them? No, personal preference was out of the question. His task was to honor all, praise all, and thus, hopefully, shave all.
The sun was already beginning to spread its warmth. Mohan liked the heat and smiled as he spread a frayed bamboo mat on the huge concrete patio some ten yards away from an entrance to the sacred bathing place called Brahma Ghat. His station was pre-eminent. Carefully preserving the privilege of his station among his peers, he would recommend his customers to the nearby cart for shawls and to the incense peddler at the other end of the entrance to the ghat. Mutual recommendation and interdependence insured peaceful co-existence. Setting a stool in the middle of his mat, and producing a soiled but legible placard from his shoulder bag, Mohan propped it on the jug of water. The sign read “Head Shave - 3 Rupees. Head and face - 5 Rupees.” He was now officially in business for the day: it was 5:45 a.m.
Brahma Ghat was already filled with bathers, but they were mostly locals who arrived at dawn every morning. Most were finishing up now, returning to their temples or ashrams or shelters where they would ask for alms during the heat of the sweltering day. Already the road into Hardwar was packed with pilgrims who had spent the night along-side the road a few miles south of town. Now they were eagerly making their way toward town with the fire and zeal of devotees who had marched for days, some for weeks, to dip in the spiritually charged waters of the Ganges. That the river was filled with bathers who for centuries had also poured their impurities, both physical and spiritual, into its flowing swells, did not matter. This was the Ganges where impurities of all kinds would be destroyed, regardless of appearances or scientific fact pointing to the contrary. They believed without question that their sins would all be washed away by a single meaningful dip in the Holy Ganges. This is what they had been taught. This is what they believed. This is what they knew to be true.
Mohan sat pulling in deep rhythmic breaths and expelled the breath slowly and evenly. He had been taught that the prana of early morning was health-giving and he started each day with deep breathing until the appearance of his first customer. He did not wait long.
Soon a man in his early fifties approached, guiding careful steps with a worn wooden crutch that he used so effortlessly that one might have thought he came into this life with it. The man smiled at Mohan, who smiled in return and asked, “Who is your Ishta, ji?” Mohan was asking politely, which of the gods the man worshipped.
“Lord Krishna himself, the godhead supreme!” the man answered.
Mohan immediately burst forth in a singsong chant with his chin raised and his closed eyes appearing as if he witnessed some ecstatic vision.
Krishna Krishna Maha Yogin, Bhaktanama Bhayamkara
Govinda Paramananda Sarvam Me Vasha-manaya
[Krishna Krishna Mah-hah Yoh-geen Bhahk-tah-nah-mah Bhah-yahm-kah-rah
Goh-vin-dah Pah-rah-mah-nahn-dah Sahr-vahm Mae Vash-ah-mahn-ah-yah]
The man cackled appreciatively and sat on the stool. Mohan had chanted a salute to Krishna in Sanskrit that said, “Oh Krishna you are king of the yogis. I am your devotee and salute the supreme blessings you bring. Thus, please make me fearless and bring all things that concern me under my control.”
Together they repeated the chant as Mohan flipped open his razor, draped a tattered cloth around the shoulders of the man, and quickly spread a thin layer of soap on the man's head. Then he began to shave the 3/4 inch growth of gray and brown that had worked its way out of his skin. In just ninety seconds the man’s head was smooth and shiny. “Face?” Mohan asked.
The man shook his head “No,” and took three wrinkled paper notes from his shoulder bag that he gave to Mohan, who accepted them with a bow and palms folded in front of him.
“Namaste, ji,” said Mohan, and the man also bowed and replied, “Namaste,” which means “I salute that part of God that lies in your own bosom.” With that the man energetically picked up his crutch and strode toward the steps leading into the brackish brown water of the ghat. Mohan had no time to recommend any of his vendor neighbors, and looked, mock-wide-eyed, at Mahesh who sold shawls from the nearby cart. The man smiled back at him and shrugged. Such was business at Brahma Ghat. Some buy, some don’t.
Just as Mohan turned his eyes back, a man in his early thirties with jet black hair, dark brown skin and flashing eyes approached with a questioning look in his eyes. Mohan had seen it a thousand times before. “Yes, I am available, ji. Who is your Ishta?”
The man gave a smile reflecting an understanding of the mysteries of black holes and replied, “For conscious beings, who else is there but Shiva, who resides in all parts of the universe as absolute consciousness?”
The question was entirely rhetorical. For the man, there would never been anyone but Shiva. Mohan broke out into an ancient song.
Shumbo Maha Deva Chandra Chura
Shankara Sambha Sada Shiva
Ganga Dhara Hara Kailasavasa
Pahiman Parvati Ramana.
[Shuhm-boh Mah-hah Deh-vah Chahn-drah Choo-rah
Shahn-kah-rah Sahm-bhah Sah-dah Shee-vah
Gahn-gah Dhah-rah Hah-rah Kaiy-lah-ah-vah-sah
Pah-hee-mahn Pahr-vah-tee Rah-mah-nah]
Om Lord Shiva, great one, giver of happiness, the essence of all, even that which is beyond manifestation, let the kundalini energy rise in our spines like the Ganges, making us the spouse of Divine Mother like you. Salutations to the luminous spouse of Parvati.
Immediately, the man began to clap enthusiastically and stomp one foot upon the steaming concrete in rhythmic accompaniment to the short song, which saluted Shiva as the giver of happiness whose spine is filled with energy that is the Ganges itself, and the crown of whose head is Kailas mountain. The song ended with salutations to Him who is the spouse of Parvati, She who is the energy of the cosmos personified that Shiva always has at his disposal.
When Mohan was finished, the man sat on his stool and began to chant quietly to himself while his head was expertly shaved. “Face?” Mohan asked after he had finished. “No,” the man replied.
Mohan quickly pressed forward, “The shawls at that cart are of good quality and very reasonable. And if you need incense, there is the place to get it.” He pointed to a stand some fifteen yards away.
The man simply nodded, gave Mohan three rupees, and disappeared into the growing throngs of devotees and pilgrims swelling the banks of the river.
Suddenly standing before Mohan was a woman of no more than twenty or twenty-five. She had long, beautiful black hair that still showed the curls of what had once been braids stretching a foot down her back. She looked innocent and somewhat vulnerable.
“Shave,” she said as she sat down on his stool.
“Mataji,” he replied, “are you sure you want to do this?”
“Quite,” she replied.
“Very well,” Mohan shrugged taking out his razor, “Who is your Ishta, Mataji?”
She replied, "If you are experienced, you should be able to tell.”
Every once in a while Mohan would get one of these who liked to test him. “Why me,” he always thought. “Why should my conclusions about a chosen deity, right or wrong, be of any importance to one’s pilgrimage?” It made no sense to him. But he always played the game. It was, after all, part of his business to do so.
He looked her over quickly and spied some faded henna designs on the palms of her hands that he recognized. Confidently, he spoke to her with joined palms. “Oh Lakshmi, why do you try to disguise yourself this way? The bounty that you are always makes itself visible to the humble devotee. But tell me, why do you want to shave your beautiful locks and appear like some stern ascetic? It does not seem to fit with what I have been taught to be your nature.”
“You are really something!” the young woman responded laughing. “Do you suppose that my divine nature is limited to any one form or any one set of rules?” Attractive as she was, she knew this game as well as he did, maybe better. “Can you not imagine that sometimes I shave my head and go to test my devotees who only recognize me in one form?”
Mohan was momentarily surprised by such a sophisticated response from one who appeared so young. But he recovered quickly and smoothly. “Divine Mother, by your potency you hide the very nature of reality itself. We humble ones only think we see this life and the universe the way it is. Only by your Grace can the curtain of illusion be removed, so that reality and truth are revealed in their true aspect. Thus, why should it surprise you that we should understand you only in limited ways? How could it be otherwise?”
The young woman’s laughter split the quiet morning air, momentarily silencing all other activity near the steps of the ghat. Her face seemed to grow more radiant and somehow, a new phase of beauty emerged that had, impossibly, not been visible before. She spoke, but now her form of twenty-some odd years seemed to contain eyes that, beholding them, one thought oneself to be gazing into eternity itself. “Does that mean that you would like to stare into the true nature of reality itself? Are you strong enough to behold truth in its raw aspect? Can you contain such a vision if it should be offered to you?” She had upped the ante it seemed.
This time Mohan was actually startled. She spoke with such effortless authority that some previously silent and hidden corner of his mind began to ask questions. “Who is this young woman? Is this some god-realized saint that has come to test me? Has some local swami changed his or her appearance and come out to challenge the devotion of vendors here at Brahma Ghat?” There had long been rumors of swamis and sages with matted hair and piercing eyes that occasionally appeared here at the ghat to determine who were true devotees and who were merely pretenders. Was this one of those fabled beings?”
After five long seconds, he replied to her question. “Oh Mother Supreme, it is not for me to say if I am ready for this vision or that divine experience. Repository of all knowledge that you are, you know full well the capacity of seekers everywhere, no matter who they revere. As a humble Ganges barber, I am not qualified to comment upon my worthiness or spiritual readiness to receive whatsoever you may decide to give, or reveal - or withhold, for that matter. That is for you alone to determine.”
With eyes now blazing like fire, the young woman no longer looked the innocent youth of a few moments before. As Mohan stood watching nervously, a radiant disk of light appeared around her head, and he could barely see another reality that seemed to never quite settle into focus. For a fleeting second, he thought he spied elephants splashing about in crystal water behind her. He could swear that for the briefest of moments he heard the delighted trumpets of their playful squirting of water at one another, trunks upraised and elephant smiles broadly on their faces. But of course, it must be nothing more than mist coming off the Ganges as the sun hit it fully in the deepening morning.
No, nothing more, and yet. . . softly in the background he could swear he heard chanting sonorously filling the air. It was a mantra he himself chanted for every devotee of Lakshmi that came to his stool. It praised Lakshmi as the divine spouse of Vishnu, that great protector of virtue and dharma. The great mantra asks that she give bounteously to us and inform us in every way possible, being supremely worthy of adoration and the fountain of all divine virtues and attributes.
So compelling was the misty apparition that Mohan found himself also chanting the mantra. . .
Om Maha Lakshmi-cha Vidmahae Vishnu Patni-cha Dhimahi Tanno Lakshmi Pracho-dayat
[Om Mah-lahk-shmee-chah Vid-mah-hey Vish-nuh Paht-nee-chah Dhee-mah-hee Tah-noh Lahk-shmee Prah-choh-dah-yaht]
Om and Salutations to the glorious spouse of Vishnu, kindly impel us toward enlightenment and inform us with your truth.
Suddenly, now before him was the unmistakable face of Lakshmi. So exquisitely beautiful was her glowing form that the mere idea of speech in praise of her was absurd. No words could do justice to that radiance that completely accepted him with all of his personality faults, shabby thoughts, dark emotions, and endless excuses for his everyday behavior. None of that mattered to her at all. The love that flowed from her was free of judgment of any kind. It was unqualified and bathed him in self-acceptance and forgiveness. As she gazed upon him with unwavering acceptance of the deepest sort, all of his cares and negative self-judgments simply melted. He was fine in every way. Completely content, he felt love for every living thing. His blossoming compassion encompassed everyone and everything. He even understood the sins of the wicked and had no contempt or animosity for them but only a deep and compassionate understanding for their predicament and their role in the cosmic scheme of things.
Feeling at one with all life, accomplished through the light of love emanating from Lakshmi, Mohan was completely at peace for the first time in his life. For a long moment, he hung suspended in time and space as the unity of creation was made clear to him. He hung there just experiencing that moment with her.
Abruptly, everything was “normal” again. Sitting on his stool was a young woman, innocent and earnest who, without looking at him said questioningly, “Shave?”
Mohan found that his eyes were filled with tears that were streaming from the corners of his eye. His hand shook, and his normal vision was blurred by the flow of tears that ran in rivulets down his face. Mohan slid to the ground and sat cross-legged while he struggled to speak. “Young Mother, forgive me for a moment, I am unable to comply with your wishes due to the vision I have just had. Your devotion to Lakshmi is such that for a moment I could actually see her in another reality. I have never experienced devotion as I have seen coming from you. Kindly give me a moment to recover, and I will shave your head. As a mark of respect, please allow me to serve your pilgrimage by donating my shaving services. Will you accept my service and allow me to shave your head for no charge?”
“OK, if you want to.” The young woman seemed completely absorbed in inner activities, making only the barest reply.
After a few moments, Mohan’s vision cleared, and his hands grew steady. With confidence once again flowing into his hands, he took out his razor and began to systematically cut the long strands of hair until only an uneven stubble remained on the young head. Then with soapy water and practiced strokes he cleaned away the remaining hair until only a clean and shining head remained. “There, Mataji, it is complete. You are now clean- shaven on your head.”
Turning around with a smile filled with eternity, the face of Lakshmi re-appeared. Amazingly, long ringlets of hair cascaded down her back. She spoke. “If you don’t mind, I think I will keep my hair after all. But you have done me a service. Please allow me to repay you. You know that reality may appear in endless forms and guises according to the precepts and conclusions of the perceiver. Krishna has said it well in his divine discourse to Arjuna when he says, ‘As is the devotion of the seeker, so do I appear unto him.’ In your reality here on the shores of the Ganges, you also honor the approach to truth of all who come here. So behold, here is a view of reality that is true and correct and also conforms to your understanding.”
Mohan felt no difference after she finished speaking. There was no glowing countenance, no misty vision. As he looked around, only the babble of the throngs along the banks of the Ganges greeted his eyes and ears.
Thinking to reply to the vision of Lakshmi, he turned back to see his stool empty. There was no young girl and no radiant Lakshmi. Just more and more people crowding and pushing along the entrance to Brahma Ghat. As he stood there on his mat, he realized that he was seeing something that had escaped his first sweeping glance.
In the chest of everyone was a small figure just near the heart center. They were not all the same. In some people, a tiny Shiva danced or sat in repose. In others, Krishna played his flute or dallied with a female figure. As his shocked gaze looked further, he saw Durga riding a tiger in one chest, and then in another Vishnu was seated upon a magnificent eagle. In still another’s chest was Kali and yet another’s, Subramanya. Next he spotted Chamundi and Saraswati and then saw an endless variety of gods and goddesses seated comfortably in the hearts of passersby. Each in the crowd of sincere devotees carried their beloved in their heart.
Then everything shifted. Now there was only a piece of shining light in everyone’s chest. That and nothing more. The light glowed with a penetrating self-luminance that made the bodies that contained them seem pale and unreal like a flat movie image. Then a tiny network of fine lines of light connected all the flames of light, joining the throngs of people in a spiderweb of unity. Mohan now saw the surging crowds as flames connected by tendrils of light. No matter where they went, each was connected to the others who milled about. Fading away, this latest scene was quickly replaced by a shining ball of light surrounded by flames that were slowly but inexorably being drawn into it, where they would one day arrive, achieving a state of total union with it.
Mohan knew that the flames surrounding the ball of light were himself and all the people swirling around him, and probably everywhere on planet Earth. The ball of light was the soul of all the souls, that great being of which we are all a part, the Purusha, Great Oversoul, or whatever name one wished to call it. From it came the great saviors and the new race of avatars that would serve humanity.
Once again the scene shifted and he was seeing the mass of people moving intentionally toward some important goal or activity. Now Krishna existed in all their hearts, then the figure changed and Shiva was sitting in everyone’s chest. Then that figure was replaced by Durga, and on and on shifting and changing. Mohan saw and understood. Finally, each person again carried their chosen ideal in their heart and Mohan knew that it was all the same truth in different forms.
Then it was over and Mohan was still sitting on his mat as huge crowds began to descend upon Brahma Ghat. It was 6:30 a.m. and the day would be a busy one. From the crowd emerged a large, sweaty man that plunked down on Mohan’s stool. Automatically Mohan rose, and while opening his razor said, “Good Morning, Ji who is your Ishta?”
“As I am a teacher on religious holiday, I am dedicated to Saraswati.”
Om Vag Devyei-cha Vidmahae, Kama Rajaya Dhimahi, Tanno Devi Pracho-dayat
[Om Vahg Dehv-yeh-chah Veed-mah-hey Kah-mah Rah-jah-yah Dhee-mah-hee Tah-noh Deh-vee Prah-choh-dah-yaht]
Om and Salutations to the glorious queenly goddess of Divine Speech, kindly impel us toward enlightenment and inform us with your truth.
Mohan chanted the ancient mantra as he began to expertly shave the man. Nothing about Mohan’s life had changed, except his understanding of everything. Now he wore a seemingly permanent smile that was infectious with everyone. “Face?” he asked his large customer?”
“Sure, why not,” said the man.
Om Eim Saraswatyei Swaha
[Om I’m Sah-rah-swaht-yei Swah-hah]
Om and Salutations to the Feminine Saraswati Principle
Mohan chanted another ancient mantra and applied soapy water to the man’s damp facial stubble.
At this rate, he thought, he might make 200-300 Rupees today. That would make it a very good day, indeed.
Inside, Mohan reviewed his policy of impartiality toward the gods and goddesses. His rule of “no favorites” was coming to an end. He admitted to himself that while he honored all and knew that all were part of the same universal truth, he could not help but feel a certain partiality toward Lakshmi. Given her visit and gift to him, how could it be otherwise?
Enjoy!
Mohan flipped open the straight razor exposing the glistening blade to the slanted shafts of early morning sun. Briefly inspecting it for signs of minute overnight rust, he satisfied himself that it was fine, and grasping a thick leather sharpening strap with a taut, automatic grip, he began to slap the blade across it, back and forth, back and forth. The heat of friction on the blade quickly made the handle grow warm. Stopping momentarily, he examined the cooling blade again with squinting eyes, then repeated the practice until he was satisfied that the blade was uniformly sharp from tip to base. Finished with his first official daily morning task, he closed the razor and placed it snugly in the pocket of his white kurta (tunic). He then picked up the jug he used every morning to carry water from the Ganges back to his station on the concrete walk that followed the course of the river for miles and headed toward the majestic, flowing river.
Mohan waded into the flow of eternal blessings called the Ganges River, sloshing in steadily until the water was mid-calf. Then he stooped and dipped his jug into the water and waited while it filled with a translucent, slightly brownish liquid. After just a few seconds he straightened up and made his way back to his station, the place where he had been for the last five years, every day, dawn ‘til dusk. He performed this same routine every day unless the winter cold became so biting that he was forced to retreat to his modest hut on the outskirts of town.
Mohan knew that this would be a busy day. Ekadashi fasting day was tomorrow, and the full moon of Guru Purnima was quickly approaching. Devotees of every description would be arriving here like sheets of rain driven before an uneven wind, each needing to have their heads shaved before they took their ceremonial dip at Brahma Ghat.
Up and down the river walk in Hardwar, vendors of all kinds set up their wares in preparation for the day’s activities. One sold statues of gods and goddesses. Another offered small packets of quickly-igniting wooden sticks for offering into sacrificial fires. Then there were the sellers of incense, various cloths and shawls, snacks, and cups of tea for the weary. Itinerant priests of questionable training set up small stations to offer different kinds of worship for travelers who were unsophisticated enough to know that the local temples provided everything they needed free of charge.
Mohan was twenty-five, single, orphaned, and strangely content for a man of humble means. He had been on his own from the time his parents died after being hit by a car when he was just fifteen. Likeable, with an engaging grin and an effortless work ethic, Mohan had been taken in by Shivadas, a local Ganges Barber, and apprenticed for five years. When his elderly benefactor had died suddenly from a heart attack, it was entirely natural that Mohan assume the station and the duties of his teacher, which he did with permission of his teacher’s widow combined with a promise to pray for them every day. He was faithful in that vow and shared a portion of his earnings with her.
Now he was the Ganges Barber that everyone knew and respected. Whether following the path of Shiva, or worshipping Lakshmi, or praising Durga, or on a pilgrimage offering homage to Krishna, Mohan knew the prayers and rituals central to each. Over his years of apprenticeship, he had studiously learned the main mantra prayers for each of the deities. Thus, when a customer would approach him, Mohan would ask the purpose of the pilgrim’s visit to Hardwar and would soon be told the deity of choice of the traveler. If one would say that he or she was asking the blessings of Durga, Mohan would chant:
Om Dum Durgayei Namaha
[Ohm Doom Door-yea-yea Nah-mah-ha]
Om and salutations to she who is beautiful to the seeker of truth and terrible in appearance to those who would injure devotees of truth.
Om Katya Inicha Vidmahae Kanya Kumaryei-cha Dhimahi, Tanno Durgihi Prachodayat
[Om Kaht-yah-ee-nee-cha Vid-mah-hei Kahn-yah Koo-mahr-yea-cha Dhee-mah-hee Tah-noh Door-gee-hee Prah-choh-dah-yaht]
Om and salutations to she who is beautiful to the seeker of truth and terrible in appearance kindly impel us toward enlightenment and inform our intellect with your truth.
Duly impressed and feeling at home, the devotee would usually hire Mohan for a riverside shave on the spot. It nearly always worked.
Mohan himself had no preference among the gods and goddesses. He viewed any favoritism on his part as the road to ruin. What if one god should be jealous of another? Or what if one particular goddess should not like him preferring some other goddess because of a feud between them? No, personal preference was out of the question. His task was to honor all, praise all, and thus, hopefully, shave all.
The sun was already beginning to spread its warmth. Mohan liked the heat and smiled as he spread a frayed bamboo mat on the huge concrete patio some ten yards away from an entrance to the sacred bathing place called Brahma Ghat. His station was pre-eminent. Carefully preserving the privilege of his station among his peers, he would recommend his customers to the nearby cart for shawls and to the incense peddler at the other end of the entrance to the ghat. Mutual recommendation and interdependence insured peaceful co-existence. Setting a stool in the middle of his mat, and producing a soiled but legible placard from his shoulder bag, Mohan propped it on the jug of water. The sign read “Head Shave - 3 Rupees. Head and face - 5 Rupees.” He was now officially in business for the day: it was 5:45 a.m.
Brahma Ghat was already filled with bathers, but they were mostly locals who arrived at dawn every morning. Most were finishing up now, returning to their temples or ashrams or shelters where they would ask for alms during the heat of the sweltering day. Already the road into Hardwar was packed with pilgrims who had spent the night along-side the road a few miles south of town. Now they were eagerly making their way toward town with the fire and zeal of devotees who had marched for days, some for weeks, to dip in the spiritually charged waters of the Ganges. That the river was filled with bathers who for centuries had also poured their impurities, both physical and spiritual, into its flowing swells, did not matter. This was the Ganges where impurities of all kinds would be destroyed, regardless of appearances or scientific fact pointing to the contrary. They believed without question that their sins would all be washed away by a single meaningful dip in the Holy Ganges. This is what they had been taught. This is what they believed. This is what they knew to be true.
Mohan sat pulling in deep rhythmic breaths and expelled the breath slowly and evenly. He had been taught that the prana of early morning was health-giving and he started each day with deep breathing until the appearance of his first customer. He did not wait long.
Soon a man in his early fifties approached, guiding careful steps with a worn wooden crutch that he used so effortlessly that one might have thought he came into this life with it. The man smiled at Mohan, who smiled in return and asked, “Who is your Ishta, ji?” Mohan was asking politely, which of the gods the man worshipped.
“Lord Krishna himself, the godhead supreme!” the man answered.
Mohan immediately burst forth in a singsong chant with his chin raised and his closed eyes appearing as if he witnessed some ecstatic vision.
Krishna Krishna Maha Yogin, Bhaktanama Bhayamkara
Govinda Paramananda Sarvam Me Vasha-manaya
[Krishna Krishna Mah-hah Yoh-geen Bhahk-tah-nah-mah Bhah-yahm-kah-rah
Goh-vin-dah Pah-rah-mah-nahn-dah Sahr-vahm Mae Vash-ah-mahn-ah-yah]
The man cackled appreciatively and sat on the stool. Mohan had chanted a salute to Krishna in Sanskrit that said, “Oh Krishna you are king of the yogis. I am your devotee and salute the supreme blessings you bring. Thus, please make me fearless and bring all things that concern me under my control.”
Together they repeated the chant as Mohan flipped open his razor, draped a tattered cloth around the shoulders of the man, and quickly spread a thin layer of soap on the man's head. Then he began to shave the 3/4 inch growth of gray and brown that had worked its way out of his skin. In just ninety seconds the man’s head was smooth and shiny. “Face?” Mohan asked.
The man shook his head “No,” and took three wrinkled paper notes from his shoulder bag that he gave to Mohan, who accepted them with a bow and palms folded in front of him.
“Namaste, ji,” said Mohan, and the man also bowed and replied, “Namaste,” which means “I salute that part of God that lies in your own bosom.” With that the man energetically picked up his crutch and strode toward the steps leading into the brackish brown water of the ghat. Mohan had no time to recommend any of his vendor neighbors, and looked, mock-wide-eyed, at Mahesh who sold shawls from the nearby cart. The man smiled back at him and shrugged. Such was business at Brahma Ghat. Some buy, some don’t.
Just as Mohan turned his eyes back, a man in his early thirties with jet black hair, dark brown skin and flashing eyes approached with a questioning look in his eyes. Mohan had seen it a thousand times before. “Yes, I am available, ji. Who is your Ishta?”
The man gave a smile reflecting an understanding of the mysteries of black holes and replied, “For conscious beings, who else is there but Shiva, who resides in all parts of the universe as absolute consciousness?”
The question was entirely rhetorical. For the man, there would never been anyone but Shiva. Mohan broke out into an ancient song.
Shumbo Maha Deva Chandra Chura
Shankara Sambha Sada Shiva
Ganga Dhara Hara Kailasavasa
Pahiman Parvati Ramana.
[Shuhm-boh Mah-hah Deh-vah Chahn-drah Choo-rah
Shahn-kah-rah Sahm-bhah Sah-dah Shee-vah
Gahn-gah Dhah-rah Hah-rah Kaiy-lah-ah-vah-sah
Pah-hee-mahn Pahr-vah-tee Rah-mah-nah]
Om Lord Shiva, great one, giver of happiness, the essence of all, even that which is beyond manifestation, let the kundalini energy rise in our spines like the Ganges, making us the spouse of Divine Mother like you. Salutations to the luminous spouse of Parvati.
Immediately, the man began to clap enthusiastically and stomp one foot upon the steaming concrete in rhythmic accompaniment to the short song, which saluted Shiva as the giver of happiness whose spine is filled with energy that is the Ganges itself, and the crown of whose head is Kailas mountain. The song ended with salutations to Him who is the spouse of Parvati, She who is the energy of the cosmos personified that Shiva always has at his disposal.
When Mohan was finished, the man sat on his stool and began to chant quietly to himself while his head was expertly shaved. “Face?” Mohan asked after he had finished. “No,” the man replied.
Mohan quickly pressed forward, “The shawls at that cart are of good quality and very reasonable. And if you need incense, there is the place to get it.” He pointed to a stand some fifteen yards away.
The man simply nodded, gave Mohan three rupees, and disappeared into the growing throngs of devotees and pilgrims swelling the banks of the river.
Suddenly standing before Mohan was a woman of no more than twenty or twenty-five. She had long, beautiful black hair that still showed the curls of what had once been braids stretching a foot down her back. She looked innocent and somewhat vulnerable.
“Shave,” she said as she sat down on his stool.
“Mataji,” he replied, “are you sure you want to do this?”
“Quite,” she replied.
“Very well,” Mohan shrugged taking out his razor, “Who is your Ishta, Mataji?”
She replied, "If you are experienced, you should be able to tell.”
Every once in a while Mohan would get one of these who liked to test him. “Why me,” he always thought. “Why should my conclusions about a chosen deity, right or wrong, be of any importance to one’s pilgrimage?” It made no sense to him. But he always played the game. It was, after all, part of his business to do so.
He looked her over quickly and spied some faded henna designs on the palms of her hands that he recognized. Confidently, he spoke to her with joined palms. “Oh Lakshmi, why do you try to disguise yourself this way? The bounty that you are always makes itself visible to the humble devotee. But tell me, why do you want to shave your beautiful locks and appear like some stern ascetic? It does not seem to fit with what I have been taught to be your nature.”
“You are really something!” the young woman responded laughing. “Do you suppose that my divine nature is limited to any one form or any one set of rules?” Attractive as she was, she knew this game as well as he did, maybe better. “Can you not imagine that sometimes I shave my head and go to test my devotees who only recognize me in one form?”
Mohan was momentarily surprised by such a sophisticated response from one who appeared so young. But he recovered quickly and smoothly. “Divine Mother, by your potency you hide the very nature of reality itself. We humble ones only think we see this life and the universe the way it is. Only by your Grace can the curtain of illusion be removed, so that reality and truth are revealed in their true aspect. Thus, why should it surprise you that we should understand you only in limited ways? How could it be otherwise?”
The young woman’s laughter split the quiet morning air, momentarily silencing all other activity near the steps of the ghat. Her face seemed to grow more radiant and somehow, a new phase of beauty emerged that had, impossibly, not been visible before. She spoke, but now her form of twenty-some odd years seemed to contain eyes that, beholding them, one thought oneself to be gazing into eternity itself. “Does that mean that you would like to stare into the true nature of reality itself? Are you strong enough to behold truth in its raw aspect? Can you contain such a vision if it should be offered to you?” She had upped the ante it seemed.
This time Mohan was actually startled. She spoke with such effortless authority that some previously silent and hidden corner of his mind began to ask questions. “Who is this young woman? Is this some god-realized saint that has come to test me? Has some local swami changed his or her appearance and come out to challenge the devotion of vendors here at Brahma Ghat?” There had long been rumors of swamis and sages with matted hair and piercing eyes that occasionally appeared here at the ghat to determine who were true devotees and who were merely pretenders. Was this one of those fabled beings?”
After five long seconds, he replied to her question. “Oh Mother Supreme, it is not for me to say if I am ready for this vision or that divine experience. Repository of all knowledge that you are, you know full well the capacity of seekers everywhere, no matter who they revere. As a humble Ganges barber, I am not qualified to comment upon my worthiness or spiritual readiness to receive whatsoever you may decide to give, or reveal - or withhold, for that matter. That is for you alone to determine.”
With eyes now blazing like fire, the young woman no longer looked the innocent youth of a few moments before. As Mohan stood watching nervously, a radiant disk of light appeared around her head, and he could barely see another reality that seemed to never quite settle into focus. For a fleeting second, he thought he spied elephants splashing about in crystal water behind her. He could swear that for the briefest of moments he heard the delighted trumpets of their playful squirting of water at one another, trunks upraised and elephant smiles broadly on their faces. But of course, it must be nothing more than mist coming off the Ganges as the sun hit it fully in the deepening morning.
No, nothing more, and yet. . . softly in the background he could swear he heard chanting sonorously filling the air. It was a mantra he himself chanted for every devotee of Lakshmi that came to his stool. It praised Lakshmi as the divine spouse of Vishnu, that great protector of virtue and dharma. The great mantra asks that she give bounteously to us and inform us in every way possible, being supremely worthy of adoration and the fountain of all divine virtues and attributes.
So compelling was the misty apparition that Mohan found himself also chanting the mantra. . .
Om Maha Lakshmi-cha Vidmahae Vishnu Patni-cha Dhimahi Tanno Lakshmi Pracho-dayat
[Om Mah-lahk-shmee-chah Vid-mah-hey Vish-nuh Paht-nee-chah Dhee-mah-hee Tah-noh Lahk-shmee Prah-choh-dah-yaht]
Om and Salutations to the glorious spouse of Vishnu, kindly impel us toward enlightenment and inform us with your truth.
Suddenly, now before him was the unmistakable face of Lakshmi. So exquisitely beautiful was her glowing form that the mere idea of speech in praise of her was absurd. No words could do justice to that radiance that completely accepted him with all of his personality faults, shabby thoughts, dark emotions, and endless excuses for his everyday behavior. None of that mattered to her at all. The love that flowed from her was free of judgment of any kind. It was unqualified and bathed him in self-acceptance and forgiveness. As she gazed upon him with unwavering acceptance of the deepest sort, all of his cares and negative self-judgments simply melted. He was fine in every way. Completely content, he felt love for every living thing. His blossoming compassion encompassed everyone and everything. He even understood the sins of the wicked and had no contempt or animosity for them but only a deep and compassionate understanding for their predicament and their role in the cosmic scheme of things.
Feeling at one with all life, accomplished through the light of love emanating from Lakshmi, Mohan was completely at peace for the first time in his life. For a long moment, he hung suspended in time and space as the unity of creation was made clear to him. He hung there just experiencing that moment with her.
Abruptly, everything was “normal” again. Sitting on his stool was a young woman, innocent and earnest who, without looking at him said questioningly, “Shave?”
Mohan found that his eyes were filled with tears that were streaming from the corners of his eye. His hand shook, and his normal vision was blurred by the flow of tears that ran in rivulets down his face. Mohan slid to the ground and sat cross-legged while he struggled to speak. “Young Mother, forgive me for a moment, I am unable to comply with your wishes due to the vision I have just had. Your devotion to Lakshmi is such that for a moment I could actually see her in another reality. I have never experienced devotion as I have seen coming from you. Kindly give me a moment to recover, and I will shave your head. As a mark of respect, please allow me to serve your pilgrimage by donating my shaving services. Will you accept my service and allow me to shave your head for no charge?”
“OK, if you want to.” The young woman seemed completely absorbed in inner activities, making only the barest reply.
After a few moments, Mohan’s vision cleared, and his hands grew steady. With confidence once again flowing into his hands, he took out his razor and began to systematically cut the long strands of hair until only an uneven stubble remained on the young head. Then with soapy water and practiced strokes he cleaned away the remaining hair until only a clean and shining head remained. “There, Mataji, it is complete. You are now clean- shaven on your head.”
Turning around with a smile filled with eternity, the face of Lakshmi re-appeared. Amazingly, long ringlets of hair cascaded down her back. She spoke. “If you don’t mind, I think I will keep my hair after all. But you have done me a service. Please allow me to repay you. You know that reality may appear in endless forms and guises according to the precepts and conclusions of the perceiver. Krishna has said it well in his divine discourse to Arjuna when he says, ‘As is the devotion of the seeker, so do I appear unto him.’ In your reality here on the shores of the Ganges, you also honor the approach to truth of all who come here. So behold, here is a view of reality that is true and correct and also conforms to your understanding.”
Mohan felt no difference after she finished speaking. There was no glowing countenance, no misty vision. As he looked around, only the babble of the throngs along the banks of the Ganges greeted his eyes and ears.
Thinking to reply to the vision of Lakshmi, he turned back to see his stool empty. There was no young girl and no radiant Lakshmi. Just more and more people crowding and pushing along the entrance to Brahma Ghat. As he stood there on his mat, he realized that he was seeing something that had escaped his first sweeping glance.
In the chest of everyone was a small figure just near the heart center. They were not all the same. In some people, a tiny Shiva danced or sat in repose. In others, Krishna played his flute or dallied with a female figure. As his shocked gaze looked further, he saw Durga riding a tiger in one chest, and then in another Vishnu was seated upon a magnificent eagle. In still another’s chest was Kali and yet another’s, Subramanya. Next he spotted Chamundi and Saraswati and then saw an endless variety of gods and goddesses seated comfortably in the hearts of passersby. Each in the crowd of sincere devotees carried their beloved in their heart.
Then everything shifted. Now there was only a piece of shining light in everyone’s chest. That and nothing more. The light glowed with a penetrating self-luminance that made the bodies that contained them seem pale and unreal like a flat movie image. Then a tiny network of fine lines of light connected all the flames of light, joining the throngs of people in a spiderweb of unity. Mohan now saw the surging crowds as flames connected by tendrils of light. No matter where they went, each was connected to the others who milled about. Fading away, this latest scene was quickly replaced by a shining ball of light surrounded by flames that were slowly but inexorably being drawn into it, where they would one day arrive, achieving a state of total union with it.
Mohan knew that the flames surrounding the ball of light were himself and all the people swirling around him, and probably everywhere on planet Earth. The ball of light was the soul of all the souls, that great being of which we are all a part, the Purusha, Great Oversoul, or whatever name one wished to call it. From it came the great saviors and the new race of avatars that would serve humanity.
Once again the scene shifted and he was seeing the mass of people moving intentionally toward some important goal or activity. Now Krishna existed in all their hearts, then the figure changed and Shiva was sitting in everyone’s chest. Then that figure was replaced by Durga, and on and on shifting and changing. Mohan saw and understood. Finally, each person again carried their chosen ideal in their heart and Mohan knew that it was all the same truth in different forms.
Then it was over and Mohan was still sitting on his mat as huge crowds began to descend upon Brahma Ghat. It was 6:30 a.m. and the day would be a busy one. From the crowd emerged a large, sweaty man that plunked down on Mohan’s stool. Automatically Mohan rose, and while opening his razor said, “Good Morning, Ji who is your Ishta?”
“As I am a teacher on religious holiday, I am dedicated to Saraswati.”
Om Vag Devyei-cha Vidmahae, Kama Rajaya Dhimahi, Tanno Devi Pracho-dayat
[Om Vahg Dehv-yeh-chah Veed-mah-hey Kah-mah Rah-jah-yah Dhee-mah-hee Tah-noh Deh-vee Prah-choh-dah-yaht]
Om and Salutations to the glorious queenly goddess of Divine Speech, kindly impel us toward enlightenment and inform us with your truth.
Mohan chanted the ancient mantra as he began to expertly shave the man. Nothing about Mohan’s life had changed, except his understanding of everything. Now he wore a seemingly permanent smile that was infectious with everyone. “Face?” he asked his large customer?”
“Sure, why not,” said the man.
Om Eim Saraswatyei Swaha
[Om I’m Sah-rah-swaht-yei Swah-hah]
Om and Salutations to the Feminine Saraswati Principle
Mohan chanted another ancient mantra and applied soapy water to the man’s damp facial stubble.
At this rate, he thought, he might make 200-300 Rupees today. That would make it a very good day, indeed.
Inside, Mohan reviewed his policy of impartiality toward the gods and goddesses. His rule of “no favorites” was coming to an end. He admitted to himself that while he honored all and knew that all were part of the same universal truth, he could not help but feel a certain partiality toward Lakshmi. Given her visit and gift to him, how could it be otherwise?
