Farewell on the Ganges: "There is Nothing Greater Than the Guru"

Farewell on the Ganges
"There is Nothing Greater Than the Guru"

BY CHRISTINE ALBERS

Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, founder of Maharishi University of Management in Fairfield, passed away peacefully in Vlodrop, Holland, on February 5. This tribute to the world-revered sage comes from Fairfield resident Christine Albers, who journeyed to India—along with many others from Fairfield and around the world—for his final rites.

On Thursday, February 7, at 4:00 a.m., I left Fairfield with three friends—destination India—to pay our respects to Maharishi, whose final rites would be held on the Ganges River outside Allahabad on February 11. I sat in the van’s front seat navigating the icy highways to Chicago, while the others meditated in the backseat. I couldn’t close my eyes—I was too wired, thinking about everything ahead of us. We had to be at the passport office by noon in order to renew our passports, obtain visas by Friday afternoon, and catch an Air India flight to Delhi that evening.

Into the Chaos

The plan didn’t quite work out that way. A mistaken turn en route to Chicago made us late arriving at the passport office. We went to the wrong visa office, and Air India cancelled our 8:45 p.m. flight. Everything was falling apart, but all the while we felt the unseen forces of nature guiding us. The wrong visa office turned out to be the Indian consulate, where a kind Indian staffer called the visa department and arranged for us to come after closing. All of our mishaps worked out in our favor, and we easily caught a 9 a.m. flight to Delhi on Saturday morning.

India At Last
After arriving late Sunday afternoon and waiting for a connecting flight to Lucknow, we met a small group of travelers from Ireland. Ann Brennan, a petite redhead with a lilting Irish accent, informed us that we could go to Allahabad to view Maharishi, something that had not occurred to us. Although we were all eager to rest in comfortable hotel rooms, Ann insisted that we keep moving on to Allahabad. “You’ve come all this way,” Ann told us, “you wouldn’t want to miss the opportunity to have Maharishi’s last darshan. I myself cried like a baby in Vlodrop, but I wouldn’t have missed the experience for the world.”

Even after an exhausting 18-hour flight, I remember saying, “We have to do whatever it takes to get Allahabad. This is why we came.” We flew to Lucknow, checked in at a beautiful guest house, looked longingly at the comfortable beds, took cold showers, put on our saris, and rode off into the night at 2 a.m.

Allahabad and Kumba Mela

We arrived in Allahabad at 6 a.m., passing an enormous temporary tent city at the Sangam, the place where the shallow, muddy Ganges River meets the green Yamuna River. Thousands of pilgrims had come to bathe in the Ganges for the Kumba Mela, a most spiritual occasion. The first light of the sun appeared over the Ganges as we saw signs pointing to Maharishi Mandir Mankapur. Maharishi’s Vedic pandits strolled along the road. Our driver stopped at the pathway that led to the vigil for Maharishi. When I opened the car door, an elderly Indian lady stood before me. She warmly took my hands, smiled into my eyes, and gave Maharishi’s favorite greeting, “Jai Guru Dev.”

A Final Blessing

A gravel path strewn with shoes was the obvious direction to go. I couldn’t look at or greet anyone—I only wanted to see Maharishi. We walked through the threshold, and there he was, Maharishi, sitting on his dais, as always. His physical form radiated pure Being. His eyes were closed and his countenance serene and blissful. The deep silence in and around the room felt reverent. I tried to collect my thoughts. I wanted to say so much to him. I wanted to thank him for . . . what? Everything. For every little bit of light in my life, for everything that is good and right and true, for all the growth that has taken place and continues to take place, for every divine experience of the transcendent. Without him, without his meditation technique, where would I be? Where would we all be? I cannot imagine. Maharishi devoted his whole life to creating a better world, a peaceful world for all mankind. I thought of the Vedic saying, “There is nothing greater than the Guru.”

To keep from getting too emotional, I reminded myself of a favorite quote attributed to Maharishi about passing from this world to the next: “Nothing has happened. Nothing has happened. Nothing significant has changed. It’s as simple as going to sleep at night and waking up in the morning. It’s a continuum. The soul continues to evolve. And for the soul, when the time comes, it is a moment of bliss.”

I joined the line of people walking along the left side of Maharishi’s platform, then around the back, then to the right of him, all the time never taking my eyes off him, clinging to him until I had to let go. At last I stood before him. I offered a handful of red rose petals onto a huge heap of flowers in front of him, and then, as is the tradition in India of paying ultimate respect to one’s teacher, I bowed down.

Afterwards, we stood in the back of the room, never removing our gaze from Maharishi. A kind Purusha gentleman whispered to us, “On the other side there is room for you to sit for a little while.” We sat on the concrete floor and meditated. Before everyone had to leave, we took one last opportunity to experience Maharishi’s divine grace. The Indian pandit in charge asked us to go quickly now. My mind raced to find the absolute best words to say. Then I remembered Maharishi’s words, “Heart speaks in silence, regular speech is too crude.” And I surrendered. Let thy will be done.

Honoring Vedic Tradition

Outside, a large group gathered along the path to the ashram waiting for the procession to the Ganges for the traditional cremation ceremony. We stood for hours. The crowds thickened, and the blazing Indian sun grew hotter. Finally, I sat down in the shade next to a group of Indian ladies, and we all admired each others’ saris. Their English was sparse, but we shared the common thread of meditation, and the love of our Guru. I asked them if I had wrapped my silk sari correctly, and they sweetly adjusted my pleats. Shortly after that, an Associated Press photographer approached me and another lady standing nearby, requesting to take our picture as we stood in front of a giant photograph of Maharishi. Though blondes in saris are unusual in India, I had no idea that our picture would show up in Yahoo News!

By mid-afternoon the procession began. Maharishi was covered in white silk and garlands of marigolds and roses, and carried by family members. Thousands tried to get close to catch a glimpse of him. According to custom, only men attended the intensely emotional cremation ceremony. I heard it explained that in the Vedic tradition women represent the creative element in nature, and the cremation ceremony, an act of dissolution, was contrary to our laws of nature. We watched on a large television screen at the ashram. I tried to sit upright on the floor, but at times, unable to keep my eyes open, I found myself falling over against the wall. Forty-eight hours had passed since I had last slept.

A Day in Varanasi

The next day was a day of rest, and we were in Varanasi. We had a beautiful room on the top floor of the Palace on the River, the Rashmi Guest House. My roommate and I discovered one window overlooked a Vedic Observatory, built by a Maharaja hundreds of years ago. The other window overlooked the Ganges River. We slept well and awoke around 11 a.m., ready to go. I was on a mission to buy punjabis and trinkets for my friends at home. In the hotel lobby, a bright ninth grade boy named Golu offered to be our guide. “I will show you Varanasi,” he told us. “What do you want to see? My uncle has nice shop. I take you there.”

We followed Golu down the narrow labyrinth of alleyways that led to the main street of Old Varanasi. With so many twists and turns, I was glad we had Golu to help us find our way back. The noisy street overflowed with busy vendors selling everything from watches to ice cream. We passed storefronts filled with shawls, saris, and statues of Indian deities. The savory aroma of fresh hot samosas and pooris piled on carts tempted us, but we heeded the warnings to eat only at certain restaurants. For the pedestrian, crossing the treacherous road meant traversing through taxis, bicycles, motorcycles (seating families of five), and rickshaws going full speed. Several vendors stopped me and said, “You look like Goldie Hawn, I have picture of her. She came to my shop. Come with me, I show you.” But we kept following Golu, trusting this young teenager with our lives.

Golu took us to all of his relatives' shops. At Uncle Shantush’s Silk Shop, we learned the fine art of negotiating. Next we visited an apothecary. Two Brahmin bulls lounged in the lobby as we entered a room neatly stocked with bottles of scented oils. Mr. Rammi told us about his travels to the Himalayas where he picked the flowers for his essential oils. We met his five-year-old granddaughter, who served as an assistant, already absorbing the healing knowledge of plants handed down in her family for generations.

We continued on to a punjabi shop, and as we looked for all-cotton outfits, a sudden commotion occurred. A big bull blocked the sunlight in the doorway, asserting his way into the store. He almost occupied the whole shop! To our amazement, everyone simply moved out of the way and continued with business as usual. Several days later, when I returned, I asked, “Where’s the bull today?” “He comes every day at 3:00 p.m.,” the owner told me.

In the evening we rented a rowboat and attended Arti, the devotions held every night on the banks of the Ganges, offering puja to Mother Ganga. Pandits in bright red and gold silk outfits stood on platforms and made circles in the air, first with bowls of fire, and then again with peacock feathers, as they turned in synchrony to the sound of beating drums. The large audience clapped and sang along. As the festival ended, statues of the Divine Mother, Saraswati, were rowed out to the middle of the Ganges and sunk into the water.

A Dip in the Holy Ganges

We retired early that night. On the next day, Wednesday, the group from Allahabad came to Varanasi for the ceremonial immersion of Maharishi’s ashes into the Ganges. This would be at the Sangam, where the Varuna and Assi Rivers meet, and where Guru Dev’s body had been placed by Maharishi many years ago.

The sun warmed our faces, and a fresh breeze blew along the Ganges as we set out on our boat ride. “Maharishi-ji is my Guru,” Lakshman, our boatman, told us. He had learned Transcendental Meditation from Maharishi back in 1972, when Varanasi was still called Benares. He explained how the Ganges River and its shoreline form the shape of a half moon, symbolic of Lord Shiva. He told us that Varanasi is one of the oldest cities in the world, over 5,000 years old. According to legend, when the whole universe dissolves someday, Varanasi will be the only place that remains.

As our group went east on the Ganges, we sighted a flotilla of boats coming towards us from the west. Maharishi’s Rajas, a group of Mother Divine ladies, and about 30 other boats approached us. We all rowed towards each other and met at the Sangam. I felt ancient, grand, and unbounded, with all of us floating on the Ganges waters, connected by our mission to pour our beloved Maharishi’s ashes into the holy river. We counted approximately 80 boats full of members of Maharishi’s worldwide Transcendental Meditation family. I located the green, red, blue, and gold umbrella of the Shankacharya and managed to glimpse dark grey ashes lovingly handed over to the Ganges River. The pandit boys chanted, and afterwards, we all stood up in our boats to sing puja to Guru Dev. That puja was the most beautiful puja ever sung, filled with devotion and celebration, because now our Maharishi resides in heaven with his Guru Dev and all the Masters of our Holy Tradition. Then we went deep within, silently meditating together with only the sound of waves lapping against our boats.

We wanted to dip in the Ganges, but we were asked to wait 30 to 40 minutes. We rowed for a while and then came back to the exact spot where Maharishi’s ashes were placed. One at a time we plunged into the icy cold water. When I jumped in my heart stopped, my breath stopped. We performed a ceremony in the water, gracefully dipping under eleven times with our hands clasped in namaste position, turning to face east, west, north, and south for eleven rotations. Then we climbed back on to the boat, which was no easy feat. It took hours for my chilled body to warm up and feel normal again. But I’m so glad to have taken that dip. Tradition says that one dip in the Ganges cleanses all our sins. To have bathed where Maharishi’s and Guru Dev’s mortal remains abide satisfied and fulfilled my heart.

The Transcendental Reality

“I can’t wait until 2008,” I heard Maharishi say last summer. “Something unfathomable will happen, something unimaginable.” Although unimaginable that he has moved on, it was his wish, his duty to Guru Dev achieved. It is unfathomable that I bid him farewell in Allahabad.

Only yesterday I enjoyed a boat ride on the Ganges River wearing a light-blue cotton punjabi. Today I walk my dog Bud on snow-covered streets, wearing a red down parka. Yesterday a monkey preened on my windowsill and kissed his reflection in the glass. Today a morning dove perches on the ledge outside my office at Books Are Fun. Everything has happened and yet nothing has happened. Maharishi taught us to experience totality, and he resides in that totality. The many gifts he gave to us for Self-Realization carry us to him, ever dwelling in our hearts, in our souls, in our eternal Transcendental Reality. Jai Guru Dev.

Source:
http://www.iowasource.com/maharishi/albers_0308.html