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| Avadhoota Nadananda and Mohanji |
(from "Autobiography of an Avadhoota - part 2"):
Avadhoota Nadananda: He had been in a pathetic mental state when he had last met me. I had initiated him a few years ago into shakti sadhana and I thought he was making good progress. In spite of his long life in study and sadhana and staying with famous sadhus and sannyasis of the time, he was still very much addicted to his wife and children. A Brahmin by birth, he had done several purashcharans of the Gayatri but was impoverished as far as domestic finances were concerned.
"I would like to be initiated into sannyasa, please do something Guruji", he said.
I was in one of the ashrams in the city, totally engrossed in my research work in those days. He sat in front of me as if awaiting my reply. I stayed in silence for some time.
He repeated, "Will you please help me to be initiated into sannyasa?"
All of a sudden I replied, "No, not in the least, I will not."
Startled, he asked, "Why, why not? Tell me what is wrong with me."
I had been busy doing some drawings on a few yantras related to my research work. Putting aside the pencil and eraser, I looked at him and said, "You need an answer? Yes, here it is. You are very much attached to your family, or addicted rather."
He had never expected such a response.
"Of course, you are a good sadhaka. Do it and keep going. But why do you want to commit to something that is not possible for you at this moment?" I said without any hesitation.
He left me without saying anything. I too left the city after the completion of my work which took a few months. For a long time, I heard nothing about him. When I visited the city about a year later, he came to meet me. He was in orange robes.
He said, "You refused to give me sannyasa, yet I have obtained it. I was initiated by ... ". I congratulated him for his success in his mission of wearing saffron robes.
"Nowadays where are you staying?" I asked with curiosity.
The reply was very discouraging.
"I constructed a room in the courtyard of my old house."
"And bhiksha?" I enquired again.
"At the same house where I stayed before sannyasa. The children bring it to me."
Actually, a sannyasi is not even supposed to go to the village where he was born or where he grew up. He is not to receive bhiksha from any relatives. But in this man's case, the shastras had now become mute. I tried to convince him that what he was doing was a sin, and asked him to go to North India where thousands of sannyasis stay in ashrams. But his attachment was so deep-rooted, that he was not in a position to even imagine leaving the premises of his old house or family.
It seems he was unhappy with my comment on his state of sannyasa. He left me in a bad mood. After a week or so, I too left the city. By this time my wanderings had come to an end. My thesis was complete, I had a doctorate in Sri Vidya, and was settled in an ashram made by my disciples in Jammu. On the Guru Purnima, the same swamiji came to my ashram for a long stay. I was happy that now at least he had left his caged life of attachments to do peaceful sadhana in my ashram.
One day he came to me and said, "Guruji, I would like to leave this place. My sadhana is getting disturbed by the crowd around you, as well as the sounds of the microphone,"
My ashram was new, naturally, there were daily satsang and bhajan sessions and a crowd was around me always. But none of the other ashram inmates had ever complained about it. He got ready to leave, and one of my disciples informed me that he was heading back to his home.
In North India, such types of sadhus are known as 'fasali' (fasal means crop or harvest), as they roam around ashrams and collect a lot of things and money, and then return to their homes during harvest season. For them, every day is harvest time really, whether ashram or village. This swamiji's case was also not much different, I thought.
Years passed. I was at another one of my ashrams in South India, where my disciples had started a few social service activities such as rehabilitation of poor children, or medical camps. I was busy writing my autobiography. During one of the functions, the old swamiji came to meet me. He had become very old and weak. The bloom on his face was gone.
"You look very weak", I wondered aloud.
Now he narrated the pathetic story of his wife and children's untimely deaths, and about his stay now with his youngest son and family. He was very unhappy with his present life.
"I could not adjust to any of the ashrams", he said speaking of his weakness.
That was true. He had lived free as a householder (in saffron robes) but not as a sannyasi. The life of a sannyasi is structured differently. That was the reason had had not been able to adjust to any ashram, even though the Guruji who had initiated him into sannyasa was from a well-established ashram. He requested me for some financial assistance, and with the help of a disciple, I made sure that he received some amount.
Later, when I left all my ashrams in North and South, freeing myself with the intention of returning to the Himalayas, I was staying with one of my disciples temporarily. This swamiji was back again. The son with whom he had been staying until recently, had died in an accident. The daughter-in-law and her two children were suffering a lot.
"There is nobody to look after the. So I have to stay with them."
I nodded my head after hearing the story. Once again he requested, "Guruji, I am badly in need of some money for the education of my grandchildren."
From where on earth could I, a sannyasi, bring money to help him! Of course, I had saved a small amount for my Himalayan journey. I told the disciple with whom I was staying to give that amount to him. The swamiji was happy. Before leaving he said, "Be always merciful to me like this."
That night I wept in grief thinking of that old swami again and again. What was in store for him next, and for how many more years would he have to suffer like this, for his wrongdoing - he was getting the payback for his attachment and addiction, which a sannyasi should never ever keep.
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