the great unknown swami. He will continue to stay unknown, I hope. He is from somewhere, you know. And, he keeps traveling, all the time. I get to know from others that he had just passed by a certain place, and I hope to meet up with him ahead, along the road, somewhere, but he has moved on to some other place. But, at each place, with someone, he leaves behind his memories, and a story. I have been collecting these stories, wherever I hear about him, and I hope you will love them, as much as I do.
This is a story that I heard about the great unknown swami while I was waiting to cross over from Dwarka to Okha-Bet, the island of Krishna. One of the most magical pilgrimage places of India, Dwarka, is well known after Krishna and his great kingdom. But, for the locals, Dwarka is meant to have been "Krishna's office" and they claim that he actually lived at the island of Okha. As a boatman explained, Krishna 'commuted' daily, between the island of Okha and the city of Dwarka. I was waiting with many others to board a boat and cross over to Okha-bet from Okha, near Dwarka in Gujarat. It had been raining heavily and the local authorities had stopped the boats from going across. I had waited since almost dawn, hoping to cross over in the early hours to allow me to enjoy a day-long visit to Krishna's temples at Okha-bet. The crowd of pilgrims, tourists, traders and local residents wanting to cross over to Okha-bet was growing, and I found a small tea-stall near the jetty to sit through the day. There were others who sat with me all through the day, waiting for the rain to break up and allow the boats to cross over.
There were a number of tea shops within the parking area. The tea shops comprised a few boxes, a big umbrella or a tarpaulin pulled out from the compound wall and in one instance, being operated from a matador van. I had picked for myself, a tea shop that was right up at the jetty, and I could see the creek waters swirling up in spate from the pouring rain. There were others with me, waiting. I had hoped that the tea shop owner would be from elsewhere, but no luck, I could not make out where he was from. I thought that everyone there were probably spies from our 'foreign hand' because one could just boat oneself out to their nearest port. Nobody looked like a pilgrim going out to worship Krishna at a temple. Everyone just looked normal, and most were local. They probably did not get out anywhere, and this was their daily life. They knew each other and everyone had someone to talk to, even the tea shop owner. I was the quiet guy in the tea shop, and there was another one, someone who looked like he was from somewhere else.
The person from somewhere else had asked for biscuits along with his tea, and he had been given a large pack of 'spechchal gulukos biskutt', and asked if I could share it with him. I thought, like, why not, and ordered for two scones, so that I would not look guilty eating up all the biscuits. We made some space over an empty carton and used it like a table to keep the biscuits, scones and tea, and probably imagined ourselves as propah tea-drinking gentlemen, and sat back to enjoy the moment, the location and the uncertainty. We introduced ourselves, me, the serendipitous traveler, and the person from somewhere introduced himself as Virambhai from Khorasa, near Junagadh. I was puzzled. The name and place sounded like inner Gujarat, but he did not seem to be so. I asked him again, and he confessed. He was from Nagpur, but had settled at Khorasa, and had a small agricultural processing factory that had him traveling to various places to find customers for his material. "Why do you come here? To Bet Dwarka?" He asked me, "To see Krishna temples? Any special puja you plan?"
We got to talking, and kept on talking on various subjects during the first cup of tea. While we waited for our second cup of tea, Virambhai asked me if I would be coming to Khorasa. I asked him about the place and he told me about the "Balaji Tirupati Venkateswara Temple" of Khorasa. He claimed that it was a very old temple and I had to visit it, otherwise my trip to this western side of Gujarat would be a waste. I took out my notebook to write down details of the temple, and asked him for instructions on getting to Khorasa and more information about the temple. At that moment of taking out the notebook and starting to write down the information, Virambhai looked startled, and seemed really worked up. He looked like he was looking at a memory from a long long time ago. He was quiet and thoughtful and somewhere else in his mind. I asked him about why he was so puzzled, and he replied, "That notebook, that jhola and that pen-pencil. It reminded me of someone else. More than ten years ago, at this very place, again, on another rainy day, while waiting for the boats to Bet Dwarka. He was a strange person, someone very very difficult to forget."
I looked up at Virambhai. He was totally lost, back to somewhere back in time. He kept remembering, "He was a strange person. He was a swami from somewhere, but he was totally not like any other swami. I have met many swamis, sadhus and priests and godmen. But, he was totally like all of us. Except that he was not like all of us. He had come from Somnath, and was waiting to go to Bet Dwarka. But he was from somewhere else. He would keep opening his diary and notebook and would take out his pen-pencil and would keep writing notes. He was a very different person. He seemed like someone you should respect and show your respect, but he was not someone who would insist that you respect him. He was a very decent person, and I had the good fortune to talk to him here, at this jetty, waiting for the boat. And we traveled together on the boat later. We spoke about many things, but he spoke to everyone. It was a strange day, but I can never forget it. My life changed all over after meeting him."
I wondered if Virambhai was referring to the same unknown swami that I had heard about from my taxi driver at Uttarakhand. The unknown swami who had traveled with him from Dehradun to Haridwar to Mussoorie to Gangotri. I asked Virambhai about how did this swami from his ten-year long memory look like? And ditto it was. He was the same unknown swami. It was a long wait, probably, looking at the rainfall at the jetty, and the wait for the boats to cross the creek. I sat back to listen, and asked the tea shop owner to keep sending us hot cups of tea as Virambhai spoke about the unknown swami. Very soon, as Rakesh had told in his stories, everyone else in the group around us at the tea shop were listening to the story of the unknown swami and were nodding and gesturing in agreement and wonder and appreciation. It was amazing. More like a flashback or like Virambhai said, a memory that had come back. Very strongly.
Virambhai settled in to his story of the great unknown swami, "We were waiting in a shed here, waiting for the rain to go away. The sound in the tin shed was too loud, and some of us decided to run out to the tiffin room being managed by two brothers from Kerala, just outside the parking area. The brothers were related to a number of workers in the Tata company factories here. Everyone knew them and one could get good and hot breakfast and snacks through the day. I met him there, he was eating some idlis and dosa. For us, it is like eating one plate of idli is luxury, ten years ago, and eating a dosa would be like one month afterwards. But I was attention to this man because he was eating. He was eating and eating, but he was this very thin man, not thin like thin, but thin than me and others in that tiffin room. They had some sort of language code, they spoke to each other in some language, and the Kerala brothers gave him a plate with eight idlis and two large bowls of chutney. He did not take any sambar. Then they gave him three dosas. It seemed all very normal to them."
"For us, at Junagadh, ten years ago, one plate idlis was enough for one month. So I watched this thin man eat all those idlis like it was normal food. He knew I was watching him. Suddenly, he had eaten everything on his plate. I did not realise at all that he had finished eating. He looked at me, and smiled, and I could not do anything after he had smiled. He was like an old friend, and I felt that I had known him for a long time. I went to sit at his table, and asked the Kerala brothers for only tea and one dal-vada that they had as a special dish. It was enough and it was very tasty. The strange man smiled at my choice of dal-vada and asked the Kerala brothers to get him one vada and one special black coffee except that he said kaapii and not said coffee. I sat there, quietly, and I cannot forget the entire day from then, from that moment."
There were others at the table with Virambhai. The Kerala brothers came up to the table and spoke to the strange thin man, "Swamiji, we are lucky that you have come back to meet us, after your trip to Somnath and Dwarka. Please see if you can stay with us tonight, at our house. Everyone will be happy to meet you and they remember the previous time that you stayed here. Your train from Okha station is only tomorrow afternoon. Where will you stay in Okha tonight? When you come back from the Bet temples, we will take you to the house and my father will call everyone else and they will meet you tonight. We need to listen to you, and we need to listen to your advice and we would like to pray with you at our house."
That was when Virambhai realised that he was sitting across a swami. But what manner of a swami was he? This man did not look like any godman at all. He wore a white qurta, khakhi cotton trousers, jhola, gold-rimmed round glasses, close-cut haircut, very clean right up to his fingernails. He sat there drinking his black coffee, and the three others at the table seemed to wait for permission to speak to him. The unknown swami gestured to them affectionately, and they began to talk to him. The eldest among them, from the looks of him, a trader from Dwarka, said, "O pujya swamiji, we are thankful that we are able to meet you, again. We can still remember your visit to our Dwarka house, when you came to the temple managed by our family in the town. Your advice helped us to take care of our problems in our family and we are now much more happier. My father has asked us specially to meet you and we knew that you would be coming here from Somnath, like you wrote in the postcard that you sent to our house."
The unknown swami smiled and replied to the trader from Dwarka, "No, Hasmukhbhai, not at all. I am happy to meet you again, here at Okha. I would have met you at Dwarka during this visit but I was not sure about my schedule. I am coming here from the Nageshwar temple and I had a wonderful puja there. Now, I want to go to Okha-bet, if Krishna permits me. This will be my third visit to the island. This is true India, here, at Okha, when you wait to go to the Bet. Come with me, travel with me, and I will enjoy the pilgrimage, knowing that I have got your company. Look at this young man here, he seems to also be keen to go the island. Are you a pilgrim, or are you a local person from Okha or from Okha-bet? This is a good place, and I make new friends each time I come here."
Virambhai suddenly felt totally at awe, feeling some sort of an energy passing through him when the unknown swami looked at him and smiled and spoke. He felt the loss of words, but managed to reply, "Swamiji, I am not from Okha. I am from Khorasa, the village where the oldest Balaji temple is to be found in Gujarat. Its a very sacred place and many people come to visit the temple from many different places. There are traditional prayers and priests and we are very fond of Khorasa. But, I come to Okha, Dwarka and Porbandar on business, but I think I am lucky, for I am able to see and enjoy my Gujarat in every manner. I also see people from all over India coming here, and they love Gujarat, and they enjoy coming to visit us. So, I am happy. I am happy that you are here, Swamiji, and that people from my Gujarat love you."
The unknown swami smiled, and the traders from Dwarka also smiled at Virambhai. They spoke with love and affection, "Bhai, we are very fond of Swamiji, and we are very fortunate that he makes time for us, and meets us and keeps in contact with us. We are a good family at Dwarka, and we had many problems, but it was with Swamiji's help that we were able to stay together and be together and be happy. He gave us very simple advice, without any magic or tantra or foolishness or superstition. We have a temple in our very house, and all our forefathers have taken care of the temple. Imagine then, that we are now living without superstition, in a very rational manner, with the simple logic that is required to live in today's world. We are grateful to ourselves and to our elders in being able to change our family lives."
The Kerala brothers had been hearing the words of Hasmukhbhai, and as did Virambhai, everyone looked puzzled at the statements. There were others who heard this and came nearer, pulling their chairs and benches closer. It was raining heavily outside, but it seemed like it was all silent inside the tiffin shop. There was a real diverse group of people within, Virambhai remembered. There were the Kerala brothers, the traders from Dwarka including Hasmukhbhai, a group of 7-8 brick-layers from Rajasthan, a Sikh family on their tour, two sadhus in saffron, one of them carrying a seven-feet tall trishul (= Shiva's trident), a group of school teachers on their trip to visit different places and local workers from the industries nearby. Hasmukhbhai smiled, for he knew that everyone was curious, and therefore he asked, "Swamiji, may I have your permission to tell my brothers and sisters here about what you did, about how you helped us and what is it that changed with us?"
The Kerala brothers intervened, and one of them said, "No, Bhai, do not ask Swamiji, he will not allow you to share information about him. He is very reluctant in that manner. Please go ahead and tell us. I will give Swamiji another cup of coffee and I will hold his walking stick so that he cannot go anywhere." Everyone laughed at the challenge, including the unknown swami, who replied, "For coffee, everything is forgiven, my brother. One can commit any crime for coffee. I am not immodest, but I did not want everyone here to go away thinking I am some magic godman. I am only a traveler, and I take stories and experiences from one part of India to another. If someone has a problem, I tell them about how someone else in India has solved it or faced it. If someone needs a solution, I tell them how I saw someone else in India face the question. I am not an encyclopedia. I travel, and I pick up information and I share it with everyone. That's all."
Hasmukhbhai smiled, and spoke, "Friends, brothers, sisters, listen to our story then, so that you can also, like Swamiji, share it with others somewhere else in India. We are a large joint family, with more than thirty persons living in a very large house, and with more than ten small children running around. Our beloved Dwarkadish (= Krishna) came to visit our family, long long ago, it is said, when he was in Dwarka, and met our ancestors. Since then, our family has retained the presence of our beloved Krishna and it has grown into a small temple along the banks of the waters behind the great Dwarka temple. There are others like us, and some are true and some are new, but for everyone, it is the devotion that makes them do what they do. And like all large families, we had our problems, of all types."
"Our cousins and some brothers moved away to other parts of Dwarka, and some were more successful, and they moved to other countries. We now have cousins and family in England, and in America and in Australia. There is one family in South Africa and they visit us each year. We stay in touch and we are very close together and our ties are very strong. The new additions to our families, either in America or in Dwarka are also faithful to the ideals and ethics of our family. We are very strongly passionate about being vegetarian and very strongly passionate about various festivals, their rituals and the fasting and the celebrations. We do it without fail, and sometimes our cousins from other countries also send their children to learn from us, and to participate and to be proud of what we do."
He continued, "Recently, that is about two years ago, there were problems. Some cousins and the younger daughters-in-law expressed their desire that they would like to seek new homes and stay in other parts of Dwarka, but would like to share the money that we would receive at the temple. For hundreds of years, it has been the practice that the money would only be used to take care of the needs of the temple. Everyone take turns in performing as the priest, but everyone goes to work at some place or the other, and we take care of our families in our way. Some of us have rented homes in the same street, for so many people cannot live comfortably in one house. But we use our salaries and savings to look at our family needs and the temple money is used only for the temple's upkeep. Even the rooms in the other parts of the house are managed by the cousins who live in them, and their painting and repairs are done with their salaries. But, recently, some young cousins and their young wives wanted to share in the money received at the temple."
Virambhai could hear the silence in the tiffin shop, as Hasmukhbhai told his story. Even today, as Virambhai told me the story at Okha, and pointed out in the general direction of the Kerala brothers' tiffin shop, in that rain, I could sense the mood inside the eatery. There was silence and everyone was totally attentive. What of the unknown swami, I asked Virambhai. He struggled to recollect, for they had all been watching Hasmukhbhai, and then he remembered. Yes, he said, the unknown swami had taken out his diary and pen-pencil, and was busy on his own, writing his notes, and he was totally lost in his work. That was what had made him remember the unknown swami, he said, when I had taken out my notebook to write notes, while waiting it out in the rain.
Hasmukhbhai continued, "Friends, you cannot imagine what happens when someone in the family turns greedy. It destroys the family totally. This is what happened to us. We tried to reason with them, explain to them that what belonged to Dwarkadish, should not be taken away from him. We tried some simple logic, by saying that every rupee that Dwarkadish received at our house, the family would receive hundred rupees by other honest means of hard work and service. We also tried to explain that it was the tradition of the family, to add two rupees to every one rupee of Krishna, and help someone else, outside our family, with any needs that they may have. We have helped in heart operations, we have helped in marriages and we have helped in studies of students from other families. But, we have never asked for our name to be read out in the marriage, and we have never taken the cash receipt from the hospital to claim any tax exemption. Our temple is not even registered as a temple trust. It is kept as a Hindu joint family account, and the money for our beloved Krishna is retained in our accounts as "gods' account" only."
"Our cousins refused to accept our logic. They had become too lazy in their lives and had not made attempts to work hard and struggle with determination like all others had done. As a result, the young men did not get good jobs and their wives from rich families wanted to get wealthy in the easy manner. They had come with the thought that since we were managing a temple at Dwarka, we must be very rich. We are rich, but in our hearts. It has nothing to do with wealth in terms of Rupees. Even our relatives in America, England or Australia have never refused to contribute to the temple. They send money each month, knowing and accepting that it is their duty. They would not have grown and progressed if it was not for the blessings and protection of our very beloved Krishna."
"They finally sent police complaints and also wrote to the income tax authorities and to the municipal corporation," said Hasmukhbhai, and continued, "but, this is the city of Dwarka, the city of Dwarkadish himself. Who will not understand us? The police understood our situation, and the tax officers came to our temple and were very happy with the temple and the account books. The municipal officers have been born in Dwarka and have grown up visiting the temple from childhood. They love the temple and its very pleasant homely atmosphere. But, our cousins did not agree. They would come and fight with us and speak in loud voices and speak in dirty language. That is when Swamiji came to our house, to the temple, of course, because he did not know that it was a family temple and we lived there. He came only to visit, during his first trip to Dwarka."
The unknown swami looked up from writing in his diary and smiled at Hasmukhbhai. He was quite busy in his writing, and must have realised that this story-telling session would take a long time, and it was raining heavily outside, and there was no other option for him but to sit it out. Virambhai kept watching the unknown swami as Hasmukhbhai kept talking about the events at his house and about his family. The unknown swami was with very minimal luggage or bags. Of course, he must have kept his stuff in some vehicle. Both the Kerala brothers sat on either side of the unknown swami. They were very protective of him. Each one had a cup of black coffee, and they kept refilling the unknown swami's cup. He never seemed to realise it, but kept sipping at the coffee like it was the most normal thing to do, that is, to drink coffee without any break. For Virambhai, a true native of Gujarat, for whom tea flowed in his blood, this unbroken coffee drinking looked very strange. But, what must be, must be, he thought. To each person, their choice.
Hasmukhbhai continued, "Swamiji had just entered our house, and our temple on the ground floor, just off the street, on his way, touring Dwarka. He must have come earlier, because he seemed familiar with the temple premises. He kept his bags in one corner, and did the worship by himself, because there was no priest at the inner sanctum. I was sitting at one corner, with my brothers and sisters, because all youngsters had been sent down to the temple area, to avoid hearing the bad language and arguments that were being used in the house premises on the first floor. We watched Swamiji, because there was no other person visiting the temple at that moment. He looked around for a priest, and realising that there was none, he just picked up the prayer plate, lit an agarbatti (= incense stick) by himself, did a small prayer, kept some flowers on the plate, and sat down with his tulsi-mala (= prayer beads of basil wood) and started his chanting."
"He kept chanting peacefully. We could hear the arguments and the fights very clearly in the temple premises. But, Swamiji was not disturbed. We could hear both the sides. Our cousins were very vulgar and they used very bad language. My parents and their cousins kept their patience and never lost control. Soon, two policemen entered the temple, removed their footwear outside, kept their police-sticks along the wall, and went upstairs. They were also involved in the argument, pacifying our cousins. We knew the policemen, for they were from our neighbourhood and they knew the old Dwarka and today's Dwarka. They were born there, and they had come to work at the local police station. But, our cousins did not agree. Perhaps because they knew the policemen, they did not get frightened. The policemen returned soon, and went away from the temple."
"I was curious about Swamiji. I can still remember the day. My sister was also curious." Hasmukhbhai continued, "I could only see this white qurta, and very decent, clean khaki cotton trousers, round-rimmed gold spectacles like our Gandhiji, his walking stick leaning on the wall, and Swamiji chanting his prayer, quietly, with his tulsi mala. I went up to sit near him, and my sister came with me. He had a small bag, sort of a pouch actually. He looked at us, both me and my sister, and saw the worry on our faces. He must have realised that we were part of the family, and that vulgar argument was worrying us. Swamiji just simply continued chanting, but with one hand, he pulled out small 27-bead tulsi-malas and gave them, one each to me and to my sister. And gently, in a low voice, he chanted, - Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare, Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama Rama Hare Hare - and I started chanting, and so did my sister."
"My two other cousins, younger than us, who had been sitting in the corner of the temple room, came up to us, and watched us chanting. They were about 8 and 10 years old, and they just walked up to Swamiji, and kept their hands out, and almost demanded that he give them the small tulsi-malas. He did, with a smile, and repeated the prayer mantra. They sat down, as though it was the most normal thing to do, and they began to chant, but they did it loudly. Swamiji just patted them with love, and they kept chanting. Hearing their voices perhaps, our parents and their cousins came down to the temple. My father recognised Swamiji from a previous visit, and greeted him with a namaste. Everyone, all the elders, kept watching us chant the holy and most sacred Krishna Maha Mantra, and it must have just pacified them totally."
As Virambhai told me, on that day, when he heard that the Swamiji had just started chanting with his tulsi-mala, by himself, and had taught the children to do the same, he felt cheated. Virambhai felt let down, that Hasmukhbhai and others had only been let on to start chanting. He had felt that since the strange gentleman was a Swamiji, or because others called him so, he would have gone and confronted the vulgar cousins, and he would have told them to stop shouting and using bad language in a temple, and he would have quoted the Srimad Bhagavat or the holy Gita, and would have magically changed their mindset etc. But he had not done anything of that sort. What type of a godman was he, then? At that moment, as he told me, Virambhai felt that the Swamiji was watching him, and he looked up, and indeed he was. The unknown swami was looking at him and smiling, pleasantly. Virambhai was startled. Did he read his mind? Did he know his thoughts?
Hasmukhbhai, it did turn out as it did, had a long story to tell. Virambhai was quite upset with having been second guessed out of his thoughts by the unknown swami, and here was this trader from Dwarka, having a great time, telling stories about his own family. Virambhai could also tell stories about his own family, but he did not have a mysterious stranger, like this unknown swami to talk about. Everyone at the Kerala brothers' tiffin shop were listening quietly, and they had let out a collective sigh when Hasmukhbhai had spoken about the tulsi-malas. Virambhai did not dare look again at the unknown swami. He may have perhaps realised that he could be irritated, and he may recite some mantra or whatever they did, he thought. It would be better to keep listening to this never ending problem about this trader's family, he told me.
The story about the family's problems at their temple in Dwarka continued. Hasmukhbhai said, "I know what you must all be wondering. If Swamiji only did chanting on that day, how did our problems go away? No. Not at all. Nobody's problems go away in such a simple manner. On that day, Swamiji chanted with the children, myself and my cousins, and then later, he sat with my father and his brother, and they discussed the matter. He just heard the entire story and went away, promising us that he would be back on the next day, by 9 am. And, true to his word, he was back. This time, he had brought more tulsi-malas. Only fifty paise, he said, bought at the store just next to the entrance of the main temple to our beloved Dwarkadish. He distributed them to everyone in our house, saying that he had sought blessings of Lord Krishna himself, in the early morning prayers."
"The entire family chanted, with Swamiji, and he did the chanting for at least eight malas with us. Some sat for the entire eight, while some sat for a couple, got up, did some stuff and came back to do the rest. After the eight, he got up and went away, saying that he would return for the evening prayers. He returned, and we did another round of eight malas of chanting together. By night, we were all happier, and more pleasant. My father told us that we should not be angry with our cousins. My uncle told us that we cannot blame our cousins, because they did not have a good job, and they did not have money to rent a house, they must have damaged their mind. My grandmother told me, she who had been shouting on the previous day, she said that we should have faith in our beloved nandalala (= Krishna) and we should have faith in our family."
"Swamiji returned every day, morning and evening, and chanted with us. He never gave us any lecture, or never tried to intervene with our cousins. He had never advised my father and uncle, I found out later," Hasmukhbhai continued, "He had just listed to the story because my father had been eager to tell him all about it. He had not made any reply or comment about the situation. After four days, my father got his thoughts all sorted out, and sent a message to our cousins that they were welcome to go to court, and fight it out in court. Or, he could try and help them get a job by talking to his friends. After two days, our cousins came back, and made peace. That night, they joined us in chanting the sacred Shri Krishna Maha Mantra with us, and they sat for the entire eight malas."
Hasmukhbhai said, "Then, came the surprise to all of us. It turned out that Swamiji had come to the temple on the first day, when we had seen him, during the loud arguments, as part of his walking tour to all the temples along the banks of the ghats. He was to leave for Jamnagar on the same night, to attend some seminar or meeting or whatever. But when he heard the problems in the house, and the impact that it would have had on the family, he had decided to stay on, and just give his support. Now, it was time for him to leave, and he gave each one of us, all children, ten postcards each, with his address written on it, with a strange name in a strange language, that I cannot understand. The pin code was for somewhere in Orissa, so it must have been Oriya, I guess, but it was because he was going to Puri, to visit the temple there, and he would stay there for more than two weeks."
"He told us, all children, to write to him, on the postcards, every day, of what we felt happy about, within our family. If I felt happy about my grandmother, I was supposed to write to him. If my sister felt happy about me, she was supposed to write to him. We were puzzled about this, but we agreed to do it. Later we found out the importance of searching for something good in each one of us. We found that we did not even want to recognise the bad or evil or wrong of our closed ones. We kept waiting for the good to happen and when it did, we immediately pounced on it, and wrote to him. Within 10-20 days, within our family, even with our cousins who fought with us, we were all very good friends, and we are to this day. Not because Swamiji gave us a lecture or whatever, but because he made us search only for good within each one of us."
Virambhai was truly startled now. He had not expected that this would be so simple. Make each one of us look only for the good in others. Do not recognise the bad in others. Do not accept it. Do not count it. Just recognise the good and immediately write about it. Do not be silent about it. This was truly something magic, he told me. This was truly something that would be extremely difficult. He would have to ask the unknown swami about how to be able to go beyond the aspect that would be difficult to accept.
This is a story that I heard about the great unknown swami while I was waiting to cross over from Dwarka to Okha-Bet, the island of Krishna. One of the most magical pilgrimage places of India, Dwarka, is well known after Krishna and his great kingdom. But, for the locals, Dwarka is meant to have been "Krishna's office" and they claim that he actually lived at the island of Okha. As a boatman explained, Krishna 'commuted' daily, between the island of Okha and the city of Dwarka. I was waiting with many others to board a boat and cross over to Okha-bet from Okha, near Dwarka in Gujarat. It had been raining heavily and the local authorities had stopped the boats from going across. I had waited since almost dawn, hoping to cross over in the early hours to allow me to enjoy a day-long visit to Krishna's temples at Okha-bet. The crowd of pilgrims, tourists, traders and local residents wanting to cross over to Okha-bet was growing, and I found a small tea-stall near the jetty to sit through the day. There were others who sat with me all through the day, waiting for the rain to break up and allow the boats to cross over.
There were a number of tea shops within the parking area. The tea shops comprised a few boxes, a big umbrella or a tarpaulin pulled out from the compound wall and in one instance, being operated from a matador van. I had picked for myself, a tea shop that was right up at the jetty, and I could see the creek waters swirling up in spate from the pouring rain. There were others with me, waiting. I had hoped that the tea shop owner would be from elsewhere, but no luck, I could not make out where he was from. I thought that everyone there were probably spies from our 'foreign hand' because one could just boat oneself out to their nearest port. Nobody looked like a pilgrim going out to worship Krishna at a temple. Everyone just looked normal, and most were local. They probably did not get out anywhere, and this was their daily life. They knew each other and everyone had someone to talk to, even the tea shop owner. I was the quiet guy in the tea shop, and there was another one, someone who looked like he was from somewhere else.
The person from somewhere else had asked for biscuits along with his tea, and he had been given a large pack of 'spechchal gulukos biskutt', and asked if I could share it with him. I thought, like, why not, and ordered for two scones, so that I would not look guilty eating up all the biscuits. We made some space over an empty carton and used it like a table to keep the biscuits, scones and tea, and probably imagined ourselves as propah tea-drinking gentlemen, and sat back to enjoy the moment, the location and the uncertainty. We introduced ourselves, me, the serendipitous traveler, and the person from somewhere introduced himself as Virambhai from Khorasa, near Junagadh. I was puzzled. The name and place sounded like inner Gujarat, but he did not seem to be so. I asked him again, and he confessed. He was from Nagpur, but had settled at Khorasa, and had a small agricultural processing factory that had him traveling to various places to find customers for his material. "Why do you come here? To Bet Dwarka?" He asked me, "To see Krishna temples? Any special puja you plan?"
We got to talking, and kept on talking on various subjects during the first cup of tea. While we waited for our second cup of tea, Virambhai asked me if I would be coming to Khorasa. I asked him about the place and he told me about the "Balaji Tirupati Venkateswara Temple" of Khorasa. He claimed that it was a very old temple and I had to visit it, otherwise my trip to this western side of Gujarat would be a waste. I took out my notebook to write down details of the temple, and asked him for instructions on getting to Khorasa and more information about the temple. At that moment of taking out the notebook and starting to write down the information, Virambhai looked startled, and seemed really worked up. He looked like he was looking at a memory from a long long time ago. He was quiet and thoughtful and somewhere else in his mind. I asked him about why he was so puzzled, and he replied, "That notebook, that jhola and that pen-pencil. It reminded me of someone else. More than ten years ago, at this very place, again, on another rainy day, while waiting for the boats to Bet Dwarka. He was a strange person, someone very very difficult to forget."
I looked up at Virambhai. He was totally lost, back to somewhere back in time. He kept remembering, "He was a strange person. He was a swami from somewhere, but he was totally not like any other swami. I have met many swamis, sadhus and priests and godmen. But, he was totally like all of us. Except that he was not like all of us. He had come from Somnath, and was waiting to go to Bet Dwarka. But he was from somewhere else. He would keep opening his diary and notebook and would take out his pen-pencil and would keep writing notes. He was a very different person. He seemed like someone you should respect and show your respect, but he was not someone who would insist that you respect him. He was a very decent person, and I had the good fortune to talk to him here, at this jetty, waiting for the boat. And we traveled together on the boat later. We spoke about many things, but he spoke to everyone. It was a strange day, but I can never forget it. My life changed all over after meeting him."
I wondered if Virambhai was referring to the same unknown swami that I had heard about from my taxi driver at Uttarakhand. The unknown swami who had traveled with him from Dehradun to Haridwar to Mussoorie to Gangotri. I asked Virambhai about how did this swami from his ten-year long memory look like? And ditto it was. He was the same unknown swami. It was a long wait, probably, looking at the rainfall at the jetty, and the wait for the boats to cross the creek. I sat back to listen, and asked the tea shop owner to keep sending us hot cups of tea as Virambhai spoke about the unknown swami. Very soon, as Rakesh had told in his stories, everyone else in the group around us at the tea shop were listening to the story of the unknown swami and were nodding and gesturing in agreement and wonder and appreciation. It was amazing. More like a flashback or like Virambhai said, a memory that had come back. Very strongly.
Virambhai settled in to his story of the great unknown swami, "We were waiting in a shed here, waiting for the rain to go away. The sound in the tin shed was too loud, and some of us decided to run out to the tiffin room being managed by two brothers from Kerala, just outside the parking area. The brothers were related to a number of workers in the Tata company factories here. Everyone knew them and one could get good and hot breakfast and snacks through the day. I met him there, he was eating some idlis and dosa. For us, it is like eating one plate of idli is luxury, ten years ago, and eating a dosa would be like one month afterwards. But I was attention to this man because he was eating. He was eating and eating, but he was this very thin man, not thin like thin, but thin than me and others in that tiffin room. They had some sort of language code, they spoke to each other in some language, and the Kerala brothers gave him a plate with eight idlis and two large bowls of chutney. He did not take any sambar. Then they gave him three dosas. It seemed all very normal to them."
"For us, at Junagadh, ten years ago, one plate idlis was enough for one month. So I watched this thin man eat all those idlis like it was normal food. He knew I was watching him. Suddenly, he had eaten everything on his plate. I did not realise at all that he had finished eating. He looked at me, and smiled, and I could not do anything after he had smiled. He was like an old friend, and I felt that I had known him for a long time. I went to sit at his table, and asked the Kerala brothers for only tea and one dal-vada that they had as a special dish. It was enough and it was very tasty. The strange man smiled at my choice of dal-vada and asked the Kerala brothers to get him one vada and one special black coffee except that he said kaapii and not said coffee. I sat there, quietly, and I cannot forget the entire day from then, from that moment."
There were others at the table with Virambhai. The Kerala brothers came up to the table and spoke to the strange thin man, "Swamiji, we are lucky that you have come back to meet us, after your trip to Somnath and Dwarka. Please see if you can stay with us tonight, at our house. Everyone will be happy to meet you and they remember the previous time that you stayed here. Your train from Okha station is only tomorrow afternoon. Where will you stay in Okha tonight? When you come back from the Bet temples, we will take you to the house and my father will call everyone else and they will meet you tonight. We need to listen to you, and we need to listen to your advice and we would like to pray with you at our house."
That was when Virambhai realised that he was sitting across a swami. But what manner of a swami was he? This man did not look like any godman at all. He wore a white qurta, khakhi cotton trousers, jhola, gold-rimmed round glasses, close-cut haircut, very clean right up to his fingernails. He sat there drinking his black coffee, and the three others at the table seemed to wait for permission to speak to him. The unknown swami gestured to them affectionately, and they began to talk to him. The eldest among them, from the looks of him, a trader from Dwarka, said, "O pujya swamiji, we are thankful that we are able to meet you, again. We can still remember your visit to our Dwarka house, when you came to the temple managed by our family in the town. Your advice helped us to take care of our problems in our family and we are now much more happier. My father has asked us specially to meet you and we knew that you would be coming here from Somnath, like you wrote in the postcard that you sent to our house."
The unknown swami smiled and replied to the trader from Dwarka, "No, Hasmukhbhai, not at all. I am happy to meet you again, here at Okha. I would have met you at Dwarka during this visit but I was not sure about my schedule. I am coming here from the Nageshwar temple and I had a wonderful puja there. Now, I want to go to Okha-bet, if Krishna permits me. This will be my third visit to the island. This is true India, here, at Okha, when you wait to go to the Bet. Come with me, travel with me, and I will enjoy the pilgrimage, knowing that I have got your company. Look at this young man here, he seems to also be keen to go the island. Are you a pilgrim, or are you a local person from Okha or from Okha-bet? This is a good place, and I make new friends each time I come here."
Virambhai suddenly felt totally at awe, feeling some sort of an energy passing through him when the unknown swami looked at him and smiled and spoke. He felt the loss of words, but managed to reply, "Swamiji, I am not from Okha. I am from Khorasa, the village where the oldest Balaji temple is to be found in Gujarat. Its a very sacred place and many people come to visit the temple from many different places. There are traditional prayers and priests and we are very fond of Khorasa. But, I come to Okha, Dwarka and Porbandar on business, but I think I am lucky, for I am able to see and enjoy my Gujarat in every manner. I also see people from all over India coming here, and they love Gujarat, and they enjoy coming to visit us. So, I am happy. I am happy that you are here, Swamiji, and that people from my Gujarat love you."
The unknown swami smiled, and the traders from Dwarka also smiled at Virambhai. They spoke with love and affection, "Bhai, we are very fond of Swamiji, and we are very fortunate that he makes time for us, and meets us and keeps in contact with us. We are a good family at Dwarka, and we had many problems, but it was with Swamiji's help that we were able to stay together and be together and be happy. He gave us very simple advice, without any magic or tantra or foolishness or superstition. We have a temple in our very house, and all our forefathers have taken care of the temple. Imagine then, that we are now living without superstition, in a very rational manner, with the simple logic that is required to live in today's world. We are grateful to ourselves and to our elders in being able to change our family lives."
The Kerala brothers had been hearing the words of Hasmukhbhai, and as did Virambhai, everyone looked puzzled at the statements. There were others who heard this and came nearer, pulling their chairs and benches closer. It was raining heavily outside, but it seemed like it was all silent inside the tiffin shop. There was a real diverse group of people within, Virambhai remembered. There were the Kerala brothers, the traders from Dwarka including Hasmukhbhai, a group of 7-8 brick-layers from Rajasthan, a Sikh family on their tour, two sadhus in saffron, one of them carrying a seven-feet tall trishul (= Shiva's trident), a group of school teachers on their trip to visit different places and local workers from the industries nearby. Hasmukhbhai smiled, for he knew that everyone was curious, and therefore he asked, "Swamiji, may I have your permission to tell my brothers and sisters here about what you did, about how you helped us and what is it that changed with us?"
The Kerala brothers intervened, and one of them said, "No, Bhai, do not ask Swamiji, he will not allow you to share information about him. He is very reluctant in that manner. Please go ahead and tell us. I will give Swamiji another cup of coffee and I will hold his walking stick so that he cannot go anywhere." Everyone laughed at the challenge, including the unknown swami, who replied, "For coffee, everything is forgiven, my brother. One can commit any crime for coffee. I am not immodest, but I did not want everyone here to go away thinking I am some magic godman. I am only a traveler, and I take stories and experiences from one part of India to another. If someone has a problem, I tell them about how someone else in India has solved it or faced it. If someone needs a solution, I tell them how I saw someone else in India face the question. I am not an encyclopedia. I travel, and I pick up information and I share it with everyone. That's all."
Hasmukhbhai smiled, and spoke, "Friends, brothers, sisters, listen to our story then, so that you can also, like Swamiji, share it with others somewhere else in India. We are a large joint family, with more than thirty persons living in a very large house, and with more than ten small children running around. Our beloved Dwarkadish (= Krishna) came to visit our family, long long ago, it is said, when he was in Dwarka, and met our ancestors. Since then, our family has retained the presence of our beloved Krishna and it has grown into a small temple along the banks of the waters behind the great Dwarka temple. There are others like us, and some are true and some are new, but for everyone, it is the devotion that makes them do what they do. And like all large families, we had our problems, of all types."
"Our cousins and some brothers moved away to other parts of Dwarka, and some were more successful, and they moved to other countries. We now have cousins and family in England, and in America and in Australia. There is one family in South Africa and they visit us each year. We stay in touch and we are very close together and our ties are very strong. The new additions to our families, either in America or in Dwarka are also faithful to the ideals and ethics of our family. We are very strongly passionate about being vegetarian and very strongly passionate about various festivals, their rituals and the fasting and the celebrations. We do it without fail, and sometimes our cousins from other countries also send their children to learn from us, and to participate and to be proud of what we do."
He continued, "Recently, that is about two years ago, there were problems. Some cousins and the younger daughters-in-law expressed their desire that they would like to seek new homes and stay in other parts of Dwarka, but would like to share the money that we would receive at the temple. For hundreds of years, it has been the practice that the money would only be used to take care of the needs of the temple. Everyone take turns in performing as the priest, but everyone goes to work at some place or the other, and we take care of our families in our way. Some of us have rented homes in the same street, for so many people cannot live comfortably in one house. But we use our salaries and savings to look at our family needs and the temple money is used only for the temple's upkeep. Even the rooms in the other parts of the house are managed by the cousins who live in them, and their painting and repairs are done with their salaries. But, recently, some young cousins and their young wives wanted to share in the money received at the temple."
Virambhai could hear the silence in the tiffin shop, as Hasmukhbhai told his story. Even today, as Virambhai told me the story at Okha, and pointed out in the general direction of the Kerala brothers' tiffin shop, in that rain, I could sense the mood inside the eatery. There was silence and everyone was totally attentive. What of the unknown swami, I asked Virambhai. He struggled to recollect, for they had all been watching Hasmukhbhai, and then he remembered. Yes, he said, the unknown swami had taken out his diary and pen-pencil, and was busy on his own, writing his notes, and he was totally lost in his work. That was what had made him remember the unknown swami, he said, when I had taken out my notebook to write notes, while waiting it out in the rain.
Hasmukhbhai continued, "Friends, you cannot imagine what happens when someone in the family turns greedy. It destroys the family totally. This is what happened to us. We tried to reason with them, explain to them that what belonged to Dwarkadish, should not be taken away from him. We tried some simple logic, by saying that every rupee that Dwarkadish received at our house, the family would receive hundred rupees by other honest means of hard work and service. We also tried to explain that it was the tradition of the family, to add two rupees to every one rupee of Krishna, and help someone else, outside our family, with any needs that they may have. We have helped in heart operations, we have helped in marriages and we have helped in studies of students from other families. But, we have never asked for our name to be read out in the marriage, and we have never taken the cash receipt from the hospital to claim any tax exemption. Our temple is not even registered as a temple trust. It is kept as a Hindu joint family account, and the money for our beloved Krishna is retained in our accounts as "gods' account" only."
"Our cousins refused to accept our logic. They had become too lazy in their lives and had not made attempts to work hard and struggle with determination like all others had done. As a result, the young men did not get good jobs and their wives from rich families wanted to get wealthy in the easy manner. They had come with the thought that since we were managing a temple at Dwarka, we must be very rich. We are rich, but in our hearts. It has nothing to do with wealth in terms of Rupees. Even our relatives in America, England or Australia have never refused to contribute to the temple. They send money each month, knowing and accepting that it is their duty. They would not have grown and progressed if it was not for the blessings and protection of our very beloved Krishna."
"They finally sent police complaints and also wrote to the income tax authorities and to the municipal corporation," said Hasmukhbhai, and continued, "but, this is the city of Dwarka, the city of Dwarkadish himself. Who will not understand us? The police understood our situation, and the tax officers came to our temple and were very happy with the temple and the account books. The municipal officers have been born in Dwarka and have grown up visiting the temple from childhood. They love the temple and its very pleasant homely atmosphere. But, our cousins did not agree. They would come and fight with us and speak in loud voices and speak in dirty language. That is when Swamiji came to our house, to the temple, of course, because he did not know that it was a family temple and we lived there. He came only to visit, during his first trip to Dwarka."
The unknown swami looked up from writing in his diary and smiled at Hasmukhbhai. He was quite busy in his writing, and must have realised that this story-telling session would take a long time, and it was raining heavily outside, and there was no other option for him but to sit it out. Virambhai kept watching the unknown swami as Hasmukhbhai kept talking about the events at his house and about his family. The unknown swami was with very minimal luggage or bags. Of course, he must have kept his stuff in some vehicle. Both the Kerala brothers sat on either side of the unknown swami. They were very protective of him. Each one had a cup of black coffee, and they kept refilling the unknown swami's cup. He never seemed to realise it, but kept sipping at the coffee like it was the most normal thing to do, that is, to drink coffee without any break. For Virambhai, a true native of Gujarat, for whom tea flowed in his blood, this unbroken coffee drinking looked very strange. But, what must be, must be, he thought. To each person, their choice.
Hasmukhbhai continued, "Swamiji had just entered our house, and our temple on the ground floor, just off the street, on his way, touring Dwarka. He must have come earlier, because he seemed familiar with the temple premises. He kept his bags in one corner, and did the worship by himself, because there was no priest at the inner sanctum. I was sitting at one corner, with my brothers and sisters, because all youngsters had been sent down to the temple area, to avoid hearing the bad language and arguments that were being used in the house premises on the first floor. We watched Swamiji, because there was no other person visiting the temple at that moment. He looked around for a priest, and realising that there was none, he just picked up the prayer plate, lit an agarbatti (= incense stick) by himself, did a small prayer, kept some flowers on the plate, and sat down with his tulsi-mala (= prayer beads of basil wood) and started his chanting."
"He kept chanting peacefully. We could hear the arguments and the fights very clearly in the temple premises. But, Swamiji was not disturbed. We could hear both the sides. Our cousins were very vulgar and they used very bad language. My parents and their cousins kept their patience and never lost control. Soon, two policemen entered the temple, removed their footwear outside, kept their police-sticks along the wall, and went upstairs. They were also involved in the argument, pacifying our cousins. We knew the policemen, for they were from our neighbourhood and they knew the old Dwarka and today's Dwarka. They were born there, and they had come to work at the local police station. But, our cousins did not agree. Perhaps because they knew the policemen, they did not get frightened. The policemen returned soon, and went away from the temple."
"I was curious about Swamiji. I can still remember the day. My sister was also curious." Hasmukhbhai continued, "I could only see this white qurta, and very decent, clean khaki cotton trousers, round-rimmed gold spectacles like our Gandhiji, his walking stick leaning on the wall, and Swamiji chanting his prayer, quietly, with his tulsi mala. I went up to sit near him, and my sister came with me. He had a small bag, sort of a pouch actually. He looked at us, both me and my sister, and saw the worry on our faces. He must have realised that we were part of the family, and that vulgar argument was worrying us. Swamiji just simply continued chanting, but with one hand, he pulled out small 27-bead tulsi-malas and gave them, one each to me and to my sister. And gently, in a low voice, he chanted, - Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare, Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama Rama Hare Hare - and I started chanting, and so did my sister."
"My two other cousins, younger than us, who had been sitting in the corner of the temple room, came up to us, and watched us chanting. They were about 8 and 10 years old, and they just walked up to Swamiji, and kept their hands out, and almost demanded that he give them the small tulsi-malas. He did, with a smile, and repeated the prayer mantra. They sat down, as though it was the most normal thing to do, and they began to chant, but they did it loudly. Swamiji just patted them with love, and they kept chanting. Hearing their voices perhaps, our parents and their cousins came down to the temple. My father recognised Swamiji from a previous visit, and greeted him with a namaste. Everyone, all the elders, kept watching us chant the holy and most sacred Krishna Maha Mantra, and it must have just pacified them totally."
As Virambhai told me, on that day, when he heard that the Swamiji had just started chanting with his tulsi-mala, by himself, and had taught the children to do the same, he felt cheated. Virambhai felt let down, that Hasmukhbhai and others had only been let on to start chanting. He had felt that since the strange gentleman was a Swamiji, or because others called him so, he would have gone and confronted the vulgar cousins, and he would have told them to stop shouting and using bad language in a temple, and he would have quoted the Srimad Bhagavat or the holy Gita, and would have magically changed their mindset etc. But he had not done anything of that sort. What type of a godman was he, then? At that moment, as he told me, Virambhai felt that the Swamiji was watching him, and he looked up, and indeed he was. The unknown swami was looking at him and smiling, pleasantly. Virambhai was startled. Did he read his mind? Did he know his thoughts?
Hasmukhbhai, it did turn out as it did, had a long story to tell. Virambhai was quite upset with having been second guessed out of his thoughts by the unknown swami, and here was this trader from Dwarka, having a great time, telling stories about his own family. Virambhai could also tell stories about his own family, but he did not have a mysterious stranger, like this unknown swami to talk about. Everyone at the Kerala brothers' tiffin shop were listening quietly, and they had let out a collective sigh when Hasmukhbhai had spoken about the tulsi-malas. Virambhai did not dare look again at the unknown swami. He may have perhaps realised that he could be irritated, and he may recite some mantra or whatever they did, he thought. It would be better to keep listening to this never ending problem about this trader's family, he told me.
The story about the family's problems at their temple in Dwarka continued. Hasmukhbhai said, "I know what you must all be wondering. If Swamiji only did chanting on that day, how did our problems go away? No. Not at all. Nobody's problems go away in such a simple manner. On that day, Swamiji chanted with the children, myself and my cousins, and then later, he sat with my father and his brother, and they discussed the matter. He just heard the entire story and went away, promising us that he would be back on the next day, by 9 am. And, true to his word, he was back. This time, he had brought more tulsi-malas. Only fifty paise, he said, bought at the store just next to the entrance of the main temple to our beloved Dwarkadish. He distributed them to everyone in our house, saying that he had sought blessings of Lord Krishna himself, in the early morning prayers."
"The entire family chanted, with Swamiji, and he did the chanting for at least eight malas with us. Some sat for the entire eight, while some sat for a couple, got up, did some stuff and came back to do the rest. After the eight, he got up and went away, saying that he would return for the evening prayers. He returned, and we did another round of eight malas of chanting together. By night, we were all happier, and more pleasant. My father told us that we should not be angry with our cousins. My uncle told us that we cannot blame our cousins, because they did not have a good job, and they did not have money to rent a house, they must have damaged their mind. My grandmother told me, she who had been shouting on the previous day, she said that we should have faith in our beloved nandalala (= Krishna) and we should have faith in our family."
"Swamiji returned every day, morning and evening, and chanted with us. He never gave us any lecture, or never tried to intervene with our cousins. He had never advised my father and uncle, I found out later," Hasmukhbhai continued, "He had just listed to the story because my father had been eager to tell him all about it. He had not made any reply or comment about the situation. After four days, my father got his thoughts all sorted out, and sent a message to our cousins that they were welcome to go to court, and fight it out in court. Or, he could try and help them get a job by talking to his friends. After two days, our cousins came back, and made peace. That night, they joined us in chanting the sacred Shri Krishna Maha Mantra with us, and they sat for the entire eight malas."
Hasmukhbhai said, "Then, came the surprise to all of us. It turned out that Swamiji had come to the temple on the first day, when we had seen him, during the loud arguments, as part of his walking tour to all the temples along the banks of the ghats. He was to leave for Jamnagar on the same night, to attend some seminar or meeting or whatever. But when he heard the problems in the house, and the impact that it would have had on the family, he had decided to stay on, and just give his support. Now, it was time for him to leave, and he gave each one of us, all children, ten postcards each, with his address written on it, with a strange name in a strange language, that I cannot understand. The pin code was for somewhere in Orissa, so it must have been Oriya, I guess, but it was because he was going to Puri, to visit the temple there, and he would stay there for more than two weeks."
"He told us, all children, to write to him, on the postcards, every day, of what we felt happy about, within our family. If I felt happy about my grandmother, I was supposed to write to him. If my sister felt happy about me, she was supposed to write to him. We were puzzled about this, but we agreed to do it. Later we found out the importance of searching for something good in each one of us. We found that we did not even want to recognise the bad or evil or wrong of our closed ones. We kept waiting for the good to happen and when it did, we immediately pounced on it, and wrote to him. Within 10-20 days, within our family, even with our cousins who fought with us, we were all very good friends, and we are to this day. Not because Swamiji gave us a lecture or whatever, but because he made us search only for good within each one of us."
Virambhai was truly startled now. He had not expected that this would be so simple. Make each one of us look only for the good in others. Do not recognise the bad in others. Do not accept it. Do not count it. Just recognise the good and immediately write about it. Do not be silent about it. This was truly something magic, he told me. This was truly something that would be extremely difficult. He would have to ask the unknown swami about how to be able to go beyond the aspect that would be difficult to accept.
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