By Myrna J. Smith
At the home of her devotee Didi rose before 4 a.m. and meditated in front of statues of Hunaman, Ram, and Sita, gods in the Hindu pantheon. In those three hours before breakfast, she seemed to bring herself to an ineffable power. She ate with the family and me, but then in a private room set aside for her, she met with her followers, individually or as families, who came to her for healings and rulings. Devotees did not come to her for suggestions; they came for answers. She told me of a father and two sons who changed their business model based on her instruction.
One evening, fifty people came to the house for a fabulous vegetarian meal and to hear her give a talk. In classic Indian style, everyone sat on the floor. She, a woman in her early fifties with graying hair sat in full lotus and emanated that ineffable power, drawing in everyone’s attention. I, of course, could not understand her message because she spoke in Hindi, but I could see her effect on people.
Years later, I lived in the home of a young guru, Tapoguna Maharaj, who had long black hair. He lives a simple life with his parents and a female companion. He does not own any statues or shrines nor does he meditate regularly. Some faithful people came to the house for spiritual guidance and even gave him small bits of money, but he did not have a large following.
What fascinated me was his daily life. He faced each day with a great deal of joy, but no plan. There was no radio, television, newspaper, or magazines to divert him. He often did shopping and cooking, doing everything with ease. When his father became ill, he walked the two miles to town and back to get medicine. They had no mode of transportation, and he probably did not want to spend the money on a rickshaw. He also went in the middle of the day when the temperature was about a hundred degrees, but the heat didn’t seem to bother him. In the evening he sang to his father but seemed able to turn over the outcome of the illness to fate.
Twice we traveled together. What impressed me most was his lack of concern about his body. He could eat or not eat, sleep or not sleep, and had no addictions. I assume he used the restroom, but needing one was never an issue for him. On one trip he, like Didi, spoke to a group, and he emanated a similar power I had seen in her.
Both these gurus lived unusual lives and had qualities I admired. However, their economic situations couldn’t have been more different. Didi lived in a lovely house in Queens—owned by her son—and had wealthy devotees. She could travel to India two or three times a year in style. She seemed to need to meditate to maintain her powers. On the other hand, Tapoguna lived in poverty, had few followers, but apparently had his powers about him all the time. He said to me once, “If you need anything, even in the middle of the night, come to me. I am always awake.”
About Myrna J. Smith, Author of God and Other Men
She recently returned from a five-week trip to Asia: two weeks with a small group to Myanmar and a few days in Hong Kong, where she has friends, and Vietnam for 10 days. The year before Smith traveled to Thailand and Cambodia and the year before that to Indonesia, both with small groups. She also travels in Canada and the northeast U.S. with her sister, brother, and their spouses most years.
In God and Other Men, this search-for-the-holy-grail memoir, Smith traces her travels toward enlightenment as a middle-aged American woman with a wry humor and heartfelt longing. On the journey she discovers spiritual fulfillment doesn’t come easily, or all at once. For her, it is quite elusive.
God and Other Men is available in paperback at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, CreateSpace, and Indie Bound.