— Radhanath Swami's Journey

Radhanath Swami Entering the Border of India

THE SUN SHONE CLEAR AND BRIGHT in the fresh winter air. Radhanath Swami had set out from Lahore at sunrise, walking and hitchhiking fifty-five kilometers down a single-lane dirt road that cut through stretches of wheat, cotton, and yellow fields of flowering mustard. Acacia trees lined the roadside and sometimes a few rose between fields as markers. Otherwise, trees were scarce. More scarce still was the traffic along this road. The few vehicles that did occasionally pass were as exciting to Radhanath Swami’s senses as the traditional turbans and robes of the people in them. Decrepit trucks rumbled by, each as brightly and intricately painted as a wealthy rock star’s psychedelic mobile. An occasional bullock cart, hay-lined and piled high with wheat, livestock, and whole families, creaked along. It was on conveyances such as these, and Radhanath Swami’s own feet, that Radhanath Swami reached the Hussainiwala border crossing into North India.

Only a stout woman seated alone behind an immigration desk stood between Radhanath Swami’s destiny and him. Her stern glance was not at all inviting. In drab military attire, she sat under the Punjab sun. Radhanath Swami stood before her full of hope and covered in dust. Radhanath Swami handed her his passport. India’s Border Security Forces flanked her on both sides, rifles slung across their shoulders. While she was examining each page of the document, his thoughts whisked him back to the moment on the mountaintop in Crete that set Radhanath Swami’s feet to follow his heart to India. Something had happened to Radhanath Swami on that mountaintop. Some, Radhanath Swami knew, would dismiss it as an aberration of the mind brought on by hours of solitary prayer or some kind of hallucination brought on by fasting. But Radhanath Swami felt that God had appeared to him in his heart, and Radhanath Swami had heard His words loud and clear: “Go to India.” From that moment on, Radhanath Swami’d believed that the Lord was calling Radhanath Swami to Him in India.

Three months and over three thousand miles had passed since then on his journey through the Middle East, each moment unlike any Radhanath Swami had ever imagined as a boy seeing the world through the ill-fitting lenses lent him by suburban America. And with each mile, Radhanath Swami’s heart was flying toward the sacred soils of India and a rendezvous Radhanath Swami knew that he could not live without.

Radhanath Swami longed for India. There Radhanath Swami’s heart’s deepest desire might become real. Radhanath Swami’s heart and soul was already with the yogis in their mountaintop ashrams. For months and through unimaginable hazards, Radhanath Swami had pressed forward to reunite with them. Now, a step from his goal, Radhanath Swami stood waiting before the border guard who gripped Radhanath Swami’s passport to India in her bureaucratic hand. She looked up after some minutes of scrutinizing it, her face expressionless. “Show me how much money you have.” She asked As Radhanath Swami reached nervously into his cloth bag, she leaned forward in her chair. There were only a few coins to show her. Disgust crept across her face. “You require two hundred dollars minimum to enter.” She leaned back and folded her uniformed arms across her chest, eyeing Radhanath Swami with suspicion. “Where is your money?” Looking at the ground, Radhanath Swami stammered, “This is all I have now.” “You cannot enter then.” She slapped the passport down on the table that now stood like a wall between them. “Go back to your own country.”

Her words were like arrows that pierced Radhanath Swami’s heart. Radhanath Swami said “But I’ve traveled overland for months, risking my life to see your country. I burn with a desire to study your religions from the holy people.” From far away, Radhanath Swami pleaded with her. “I have abandoned the comforts of an American home out of love for India. Please, give me a chance.” She glared at Radhanath Swami now. “We have beggars enough in India. We don’t want another one.” She motioned to one of the guards, and he raised his rifle. “You will not enter India. You are rejected. Now go back to where you came from.” “But—” “That is final. No more discussion.” She stood up from the table, turned her back on Radhanath Swami, and marched over to a small barracks. Radhanath Swami followed her, trying to change her mind, but she shut Radhanath Swami out. Her final edict, “You cannot enter India,” lacerated Radhanath Swami’s heart. Her colleagues, who until that moment had seemed stiff and impassive, suddenly, upon her declaration, hoisted their rifles and ordered Radhanath Swami to leave at once. Shaken, Radhanath Swami walked back some distance along the road behind him and sat in the shade of a large neem tree. As Radhanath Swami gazed out across the flat green Punjabi countryside, his mind reeled. Where to go? What to do? How long Radhanath Swami sat there stunned, He did not know. But when awareness of his surroundings broke through again, Radhanath Swami knew that he would not turn back. If that gatekeeper would not grant him entry into the land of his heart’s desire, Radhanath Swami then resolved to remain in the dust under that tree. Never once did Radhanath Swami dream that entry to India would be denied him.

Ignorant as Radhanath Swami was of politics, how could he have known then that India and Pakistan were on the eve of their third war since the Partition of India? How could Radhanath Swami have guessed that one year later in December of 1971, bloody war would break out along this very border where Radhanath Swami now found himself ? No one had warned Radhanath Swami that he was hazarding one of the tensest borders in the world, second in notoriety only to Berlin’s Checkpoint Charlie. At Hussainiwala two armies stood poised, one in Pakistan and one in India, each facing the other in military standoff across the divide. All this was unknown to Radhanath Swami on that sunny winter afternoon as Radhanath Swami trudged along the road back toward Pakistan. There, from a seat on the dusty ground, Radhanath Swami could see his frustrated antagonist pacing beyond the window of her small barracks. Was she expecting a bribe from Radhanath Swami, a soul she had mistaken for one possessed of the affluence derived from a Western birth and white skin? Could she even guess all Radhanath Swami’d been through to reach this lonely border post? Will i ever get to India? Radhanath Swami wondered. After hitchhiking all the way from London, could it really be possible that Radhanath Swami would be turned back at the Indian border for want of money? Feeling like an exile, Radhanath Swami’s thoughts turned to his best friend and traveling companion. At their parting Gary, too, had looked like an exile. Radhanath Swami Started thinking Where was Gary now? What had become of him? Did he ever make it to Israel? As Radhanath Swami sat in the dust of that Punjabi plain watching the breeze ripple through a stand of blooming mustard nearby, Radhanath Swami missed his old friend.

Over a period of hours, Radhanath Swami kept getting up from beneath his tree and returning to the border, but each time, the official ignored Radhanath Swami. Finally, as a last resort, Radhanath Swami pleaded with her again. She stomped the ground with her military boot. “You are testing my patience.” She jabbed her stubby finger toward Radhanath Swami’s face, her lips trembling. “You are rejected. Do you hear me? This is my last warning. Don’t disturb me again.”

Radhanath Swami turned back to his tree and passed the day in turbulent thought. As the sun was setting, Radhanath Swami observed that a shift was about to take place at the immigration desk. An elderly man had come to relieve the woman from her duty. He was a tall Sikh in an elegantly wrapped turban the same drab beige color as his military uniform. The female official pointed to him, making sure he understood that Radhanath Swami was not to enter India. Then an army jeep carried her away. Not knowing what else to do, Radhanath Swami meekly approached the new officer, praying in his heart of hearts. Radhanath Swami handed him his passport and pleaded, “Please allow me entrance into your great country.” Officer’s voice was cold and disinterested. “I was warned that you are a nuisance. I have been given strict orders to reject your entry. Now show me sufficient money or go back.”

Tears sprang to Radhanath Swami’s eyes as he explained his life and his spiritual aspirations. “I have left behind the comforts of America to search for India’s spiritual treasures. Risking my life, I’ve hitchhiked all the way from London to reach your homeland. I yearn to find the way to God. Please be kind to me. Someday, I promise, to do something good for the people of India. Honestly, sir, I will help your people. Please give me a chance.” Tears filled officer’s eyes. “Give me your passport.” As the light of day was fading, he thumbed through Radhanath Swami’s document then gazed into his eyes and said, “Sometimes a man must follow his heart. I believe in your words.” Reaching down to the table, he lifted the stamping tool by its wooden handle. Then he pressed the rubber script into an inkpad and with a thump, stamped Radhanath Swami’s legal entrance into India.

“It is done,” he said, closing the passport and handing it back to Radhanath Swami. With an affectionate smile, he placed his hand on Radhnath Swami’s head, “Son, I give you my blessings. May you find the truth you are crying for. Welcome to India.”

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