10/03/2022
I had been manager at the Washington DC ashram for a year. We all received word of Baba’s samadhi at about 5 pm on October 2. We were in shock. A group of us quickly booked tickets and flew from Washington, D.C. to Kennedy Airport in New York, where we met about two hundred other devotees flying to India. The flight was not ideal, with three stops along the way, but it was the best we could get at such short notice. The mood was both somber and joyful. We were grieving Baba’s passing but also remembered with love and joy all he had given us. We had stops in London, Istanbul, and Dubai before we arrived at the Mumbai Airport at 2:00 a.m. Indian time. Two hundred of us lined up in the dank, humid airport corridor to pass through Indian immigration, avoiding the puddles that signaled we were still in monsoon season. At first the officials would not let us enter, saying we needed visas. Finally, one of the women swamis went to the official and cried her heart out, explaining that we had all come for Baba’s funeral. Suddenly we were all let through.
We were met by several buses that took us to Ganeshpuri. We left Mumbai in darkness but as we neared the ashram, the sun rose and an unimaginable scene spread before us. There were so many vehicles trying to get to the ashram that our bus had to stop on the road a mile away to let us out. We walked the mile uphill to the ashram through a sea of thousands of Indian devotees. Remarkably, everyone let us pass unimpeded as we slowly made our way. Baba’s burial had been held in abeyance for two days so that our large group could arrive for the ceremonies. Baba was placed in a meditative posture on a chair in his apartment and for two days since his death, with thousands of Indian devotees filing through to have their final darshan. Now it was our turn. I was moving as if in a dream. I had not slept for two days and was now in line waiting to see Baba for the final time. The line moved quickly as the sevites hurriedly prepared for the burial ceremonies. I finally reached Baba’s chair and bowed my head to the floor, anxious to have a moment of silence with him. But before I could form a thought, my friend Uma said “MOVE,” and I had to quickly get up so the line could continue. Disappointment gripped my heart. My final darshan, and I had no time to offer Baba my gratitude.
Within minutes those who had flown in had Baba’s darshan. Then Baba was carried in his chair through the ashram to the street and onto the back of a truck that took him to Ganeshpuri for the last darshan of his guru Bhagavan Nityananda. Thousands of Indian devotees surrounded the truck chanting and dancing as it moved slowly toward Ganeshpuri. I was too exhausted to follow, the cacophony of the street overwhelming my senses. I stayed behind in the quiet of the ashram as sevites prepared for Baba’s burial in his original room, what for years had been the meditation hall. Standing near the door of the Nityananda temple, across from the burial room, I was asked to stand guard to prevent the surge of people returning from rushing through the temple to the burial site. Glad to do seva, I stood in silence as we awaited the return of Baba’s body.
Soon the truck carrying Baba was back, along with throngs of devotees. Baba was carried in for his last darshan of Bhagavan Niyananda in his temple at the ashram. Baba was then lifted toward the door where I stood guard. Unexpectedly, he was suddenly sitting in his chair directly in front of me as the men carrying him tried, unsuccessfully, to move him through the doorway. Time stood still as I realized that I was facing Guruji for the last time—my final darshan of his physical form. The moment seemed to last forever. Looking into his eyes, I inwardly thanked him for all he had given me. I asked to be able to serve him in this and any other life. Finally, seeing the trouble the men were having in getting the chair through the door, I placed my hands beneath the chair and felt a surge of shakti course through me as if I had touched Baba’s feet. With that small movement, Baba passed through the doorway and was taken into the site for his burial.
The burial pit had been prepared ahead of time. Now Baba was placed inside it, sitting in a meditative posture as devotees began placing all sorts of their precious possessions into the pit to be buried with Baba for posterity. Brahman priests chanted mantras as a long chain of men, coated with sweat, carried buckets of dirt from outside and emptied them into the pit. It seemed to take hours, with bucket after bucket filling the burial pit, until a level and smooth surface formed on top of Baba’s burial pit. The ashram grew silent as flowers were placed on top of what was now his samadhi shrine. Devotees waved devotional lamps and final chants were sung.
The shrine room was filled with sanyasis and several of Baba’s long-time devotees. I watched through a window as I stood just outside the shrine. Finally, Gurumayi, whom Baba had announced as his successor four months previously, rose to give her final prayer to Baba. She was shaking and distraught. No one had been closer to Baba than Gurumayi. She had been raised in Baba’s presence and had spent her last five years constantly by Baba’s side as his translator and most trusted helper. I thought I was in grief over Baba’s death, but for Gurumayi, Baba was the air she breathed. I looked at her and sent her as much love and support as I could. She finished her prayer, saying words Baba had often repeated: “Rivers never drink from their own waters. Trees never eat their own fruit. He who sacrifices his body, mind, and wealth for others is a true human being. He is God walking on this earth.”
With Gurumayi’s final words, the ceremony ended. Minutes later a chant that was to go on for thirty days was started in an adjoining hall, Om Namo Bhagavate Muktanandaya. The frenzied and chaotic activity of the morning’s burial suddenly gave way to a feeling of serene peace. The ashram was once again bathed in silence and the beautiful sound of the chant spread through the ashram grounds. Deep and profound joy began to fill all of us present, despite our grief over Baba’s passing.
In India most people are cremated at death, but enlightened masters are buried because their bodies retain the merits of their spiritual attainment. Their samadhi shrines hold a vast spiritual energy that others experience when worshipping there. I remained in Ganeshpuri for thirty days after Baba’s burial, sitting daily in his samadhi shrine absorbing the divine energy. Rays of divine bliss poured unimpeded into the room. It seemed that Baba had merged into the most rare and lofty space of Divine Consciousness and, for a short time, the window between that divine space and our earthly plane remained open, giving us all an experience of that divinity. Never before had I been able to sit in meditation for three hours at a time, but now the energy in the shrine buoyed me. My concept of time dissolved. Merging into that divine state, I had no thoughts of grief or sorrow, only the feeling of oneness with God.
Baba had said that when an enlightened master departs from this physical plane he leaves for his disciples as much conscious spiritual energy as they can absorb. I was aware of these words during my month in Ganeshpuri and wondered what I was receiving from Baba. In truth, it took many years for me to understand the depth of what Baba had given me, a gift that unfolded and expanded over time. He implanted in me the experience of my own awakened heart, my divine essence, a seed that has never stopped growing, a seed whose essence is divine love. I prepared to leave Ganeshpuri feeling profoundly grateful for the eight years I spent with Baba, one of the very great spiritual masters of our time. At the same time, I could not help but feel a deep sadness that I would not be seeing his beautiful physical form again. To this day, I marvel that I had been able to be in the company of such a great soul.
