— Radhanath Swami's Journey

Radhanath Swami at Pashupatinath, Nepal

As Radhanath Swami crawled out from the icy Himalayan water of the Bagmati River, he gazed at two heaps of ashes, one from a cremation pit and other drom a sacrificial fire . Radhanath Swami was dressed in only a loincloth, and a cold wind chilled him to the bone. An intense longing gripped Radhanath Swami. What was he doing there – shivering, alone, nearly starving, and so far from home? Was all Radhanath Swami’s searching to be in vain? He stared up at stars that were shimmering through the branches of an ancient banyan tree. Birds of the night warbled a melancholy song. Sacred fires burned brightly along the riverbank, where holy men, their hair matted like ropes hanging down below their knees, threw offering of pungent herbs into the flames. From the smoldering remains, they scooped out handfuls of ashes and smeared them over their flesh. Completing the ritual, they marched toward the sacred shrine that Radhanath Swami yarned to enter.

It was the spring of 1971 in Pashupatinath, Nepal, Where a flood of pilgrims had converged that night. Just out of his teens, Radhanath Swami felt hale a planet away from his home un suburban Chicago, and he ached for the solace of the holy place, A place where he might pray for direction. An hour earlier, Radhanath Swami had approached an ancient temple, its towering gateway carved with mythical lions, serpents, gods, and goddesses. As he climbed the stone steps, thrilled with anticipation, a gatekeeper whipped his club into Radhanat Swami’s chest. Radhanath Swami sunk to his knees, gasping for breath. Flanked on both sides by police, the gatekeeper blocked Radhanath Swami’s path and shouted, “You are a foreigner! Get out!” Their chief, dressed in turban and military attire burst forward with burning eyes and smacked his rod a sign that read: No Foreigners Allowed.

“Out from here!” chief roared. “If you try again, you’ll be severely beaten and thrown in prison. And I cannot say what the mobs will do.” Chief ordered his chargers to be vigilant. Radhanath Swami had wandered to the bank of the river, crestfallen. His arduous quest for spiritual meaning had led him this far. He couldn’t turn back.

Now, watching the holy men, an idea sprang into Radhanath Swami’s mind. He kneeled down at one smoldering pit where a sacrificial fire had burned and sunk both his hands deep into the warm, powdery ashes, sift out the lumps of glowing coals. Shuddering, Radhanath Swami plastered the ashes across his skinny body from his matted hair to his calloused bare feet. The musty powder burned into Radhanath Swami’s nostrils, choking his throat and parching his mouth. Radhanth Swami wrapped two river stained cotton sheets over his upper and lower body for robes and crept again toward the gate, his heart beating heavily in his chest.

The same sentinels stood guard with club in hand, but they did not recognize Radhanat Swami and let him pass. As Radhanath Swami entered a vast open courtyard surrounding the ancient altar he thought , if I’m caught in here, I could be killed. Several thousand people gathered in an unruly line were waiting to see the altar. Only one person was allowed at a time. Patiently taking his place in the rear of the line, Radhanath Swami inched forward. Suddenly, the same police chief who had stopped him earlier passed by. Radhanath Swami gasped and turned his face away, his adrenaline surging. Chief stepped right in front of Radhanath Swami, stared into his ash covered face then barked a question in the local Hindi language. Radhanath Swami didn’t understand a word. If he spoke a single word of English here, Radhanath Swami knew he would be finished. Receiving no reply, chief stared at Radhanath Swami and launched into a barrage of questions, this time much louder. Radhanath Swami’s mind reeled with thoughts of years wasted in a filthy Nepali prison or worse. With a blank expression Radhanath Swami stood motionless, knowing chief was trained to detect anything suspicious. Did he recognize me? Radhanth Swami could only guess.

Another idea rose in Radhanath Swami’s mind . Placing palm over his mouth, he waved his other hand side to side. Those who vow never to speak, mauni babas, often express their vows in this way.

The chief gripped Radhanath Swami’s arm dragged him away. Where was he taking Radhanath Swami? Was Radhanath Swami under arrest? Chief yelled. Instantly, two police guards came running. Surrounded, Radhanath Swami was yanked through the line of pilgrims until they reached the place of maximum congestion. Raising their clubs, Radhanath Swami’s captors roared like thunder. Was this to be a public lashing? They shouted louder and louder as people scattered. Radhanath Swami waited, terrified. The man dragged him through the bustling crowd until Radhanath Swami found himself standing directly in front of the altar a colorful pagoda with swirls of sandalwood incense pouring out. In front stood a massive stone bull. On the altar stood a massive stone bull. On the altar stood a stone figured deity Shiva, adorned with embroidered silks and glittering with gold and precious jewels. The chief lifted his stick and squeezed Radhanath Swami’s arm. “Would he pummel me right before the holy image?”, Radhanath Swami Thought.

Surrounded by chief’s lieutenants, rod raised above chief’s head, chief shouted orders at a priest, who rushed back into the altar. Radhanath Swami waited, trembling. From the inner sanctuary the high priest appeared dressed in robes of red silk. A striking red circle of powder marked his forehead and he wore a gold necklace and strand of dried rudraksha seeds around his neck. In a deep, hypnotic tone, priest recited the mantra, “Om Namah Shivaya”.

Radhanath Swami’s captor, whose stout body sweating profusely despite the chilly wind, yelled something that Radhanath Swami again could not understand. The high priest listened intently. Priest nodded his head, closed his eyes and paused. Moments passed as the mass of pilgrims clamored impatiently. Then, straightening his posture, the high priest took a deep breath and began to recite incantations from ancient Sanskrit texts. He stunned Radhanath Swami by wrapping a silk turban around Radhanath Swami’s head. Then priest draped a shawl over Radhanath Swami’s shoulders, placed several Jasmine night queen garlands around Radhanath Swami’s neck, anointed Radhanath Swami’s forehead with sandalwood paste and offered him saffron-flavored water to drink. Standing in a daze, Radhanath Swami realized that the police were holding the massive crowd back in order to grant Radhanath Swami an exclusive opportunity to worship the Lord and be honored by the temple. Bowing low with humility, the police chief then begged with joint palms for Radhanath Swami’s blessing and departed.

Did he not recognize Radhanath Swami in his disguise or was the chief aware who Radhanath Swami was and simply honoring his determination? This Radhanath Swami will never know. Whatever the reason, Radhanath Swami was humbled. Radhanath Swami had defied human law and deserved to be beaten, but God is merciful. Standing before the altar, his limbs covered with ashes, his drab ascetic robes, and tangled, matted hair awkwardly covered with silks and flowers, Radhanath Swami squeezed his tearing eyes shut, joined his palms and prayed that he would be shown his true path as he continued his journey.

Radhanath Swami returned to the riverbank and sat on the cold earth. It was a moonless night. Stars glittered in the dark sky, a breeze filled the forest with the scent of blooming jasmine, and the cooing of an owl emerged out of the silence. Gazing downstream, Radhanath Swami wondered where the river of destiny would lead him next. How did Radhanath Swami land into a life so foreign to his upbringing, but so familiar to his soul?

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