A Tribute to a Great Brother

A Tribute to a Great Brother - posted by: Khurra on August 13, 2004

Title of this article: “A Voyage of Discovery”

I was born in Guyana or, to be more accurate, British Guiana, in 1957 - in the final decade of the colonial era. Even then, Eurocentric values were dominant in the society, and there was the concomitant colonial complex of the local populace. The correlation between colour and status was close one and, in this matrix, India and things Indian did not loom large.

I grew up in Prashad Nagar, a suburb of Georgetown which had been developed as a residential area by a local Indian. In apparent defiance of the prevailing ethos, he had given Indian names to practically all the streets. Our house, on Ganges Street, was the third in the entire area. So, we were pioneers of sort. Other street names that come to mind are Delhi Street, Munipur Street and Bombay Terrace. I public perception, and in real estate valuation, the area ranked just below the more established Bel Air Park locale.

Our family was liberal Muslim, somewhere between nominal and traditional. We wore our religion lightly although, as far as I can remember, my Father regularly attended the Friday Jumma prayers at the mosque in Kitty, an area near to Prashad Nagar. My Brother and I were taken to the mosque, or “masjid” as it was more commonly called, on the special religious days; the main ones being Eid al Fit and Eid al Adha. I remember our Father giving us a handful of coins each to distribute to the poor and destitute, who assembled in an orderly line outside the masjid. We derived much satisfaction from that simple act of charity.

Georgetown was a cosmopolitan place. Its inhabitants were Indian, African, Portuguese, Chinese and Europeans. There were even a few Amerindians - the only true natives - who were in the city for purposes of education or employment. In this mileau, there was, for the most part, an easygoing interaction of the peoples - barring the socio-political disturbances of the 60’s, of course. In terms of religion, Christianity was dominant, but there was no polarization and certainly none of the communal schisms which degenerate into violence in places like Ireland and India. In fine, it would probably be true to say that religious fervour was somewhat watered down in the city. That may have been a good thing, one less source of friction.

My Brother and I attended St Gabriel’s Primary School (Convent of the Good Shepherd) in Georgetown As per school requirements, we were outfitted with Clark’s shoes - the beginning of a series. I can stil remember the spongy yellow-beige soles, and their peculiar smell when new - there was a beauty i their ugliness. The school was run by English nuns. They were nice, even though they mispronounced m name

did well at St Gabriel’s, and the nuns liked me. Every school day would begin with Christian prayer and, as I recall, there was a weekly Chapel service, when hymns would be sung. Towards the end of every calendar year, religiously, I would be selected to act in the nativity play which the school put on. It was considered an honour and privilege to be selected and it also meant lots of time off from classes So, I didn’t mind in the least. For some reason, my part was always the same - one of King Herod’s four guards. A non-speaking role. Another Indian boy and two Creole lads were costumed as the other three guards. Herod himself was Portuguese

An incident comes to mind. My Father had sent my Brother and I to the Kitty mosque, to be taught Arabic by the clerics there. I believe it was one or two lessons a week. An old, bearded and wizenen Indian was the teacher. He was strict. Too strict. He started to teach us the alphabet by rote, and began to hit us on the knuckles with a ruler whenever we gave him incorrect answers. This went on for while, and we became somewhat anxious about the situation. Finally, we decided to complain to our Father. That was the end of Arabic lessons. The incident did not affect my appreciation of Islam; since my knowledge of the religion was minimal, I had no opinion to speak of. The positive side of it is that my natural inclination to be open to spiritual inquiry was given free rein. This would lead to fascinating vista and experiences in the years to come.

I passed the Common Entrance Examination in 1968 - by the skin of my teeth as one of the nuns late reminded me - and proceeded to Queen’s College, the country’s leading high school. Country not colony - independence from Britain had been attained in 1966. My years at Queen’s College were not particulary happy ones. My mind was elsewhere much of the time. I had a feeling of alienation and suspicion that much of what we were supposed to imbibe was irrelevant to what really mattered in life. But of course, being only a student, there was nothing that I could do about it - except goof off, as the North Americans would put it. I would say this for Queen’s: the caliber of its students, teaching staff and facilities were first class - by any standard. In retrospect, one thing strikes me as odd; the fact that even though it was supposedly a secular institution, morning General Assembly would invariably begin with the singing of Christian hymns.

I was neither immune to nor unaffected by the Western orientation of Georgetown society. I would not say that I had a complex about being Indian or about things Indian, but neither was I filled with confidence in my ethnic identity and heritage. Thinking about it now, I would have to admit that I too accepted Western standards and values as preeminent and my self esteem was undoubtedly influenced by how far away I judged myself to be from those standards and values. This was a pernicious thing.

Although Indians constituted a slim majority of Guyana’s population, Indian culture did not enjoy prestige commensurate with that reality. Part of the reason for this dichotomy lay in the colonial origins and institutions and consequent Western values and orientation of the society. The native politicians, professionals and elite were also cast in that mould. They had received their tertiary education at Western universities, and even their ideas on counter culture and alternative political economy had European origins.

Despite the post-colonial realities, India began to obtrude into my consciousness; slowly, gradually imperceptibly at first. Ours was the easternmost street in Prashad Nagar. Across from our house, was the vast Booker’s pasture; a grazing ground for that company’s herd of cows. From our home, we had a view of the entire pasture. Beyond the pasture’s eastern boundary, some of the buildings of th fledgling University of Guyana, in Turkeyen, were barely visible. To the north-east, we could see, a specks, houses on the East Coast; the strip of land that borders and runs along the Atlantic ocean. On Sunday nights, we would often see a long line of lights moving slowly West down the East Coast Public Road. These were cars coming home to Georgetown, after a movie at the country’s only drive in cinema. From our distance, the lights of the cars looked like a string of shining pearls moving silently in the black velvet night.

Lying in bed some nights, I would hear the faint sound of Indian music drifting across the pastureland. The music came from houses and cottages on the East Coast, some miles away. The open land allowed it to travel to my ear - barely. In the darkness and stillness of night, it was a haunting sound. The singer was invariably female, singing in the high pitched ranges that Indian singers do. The music was strange to me, but vaguely familiar at the same time. It seemed to be beckoning from a distant past. There was a sadness to it. Something stirred uneasily within me.

A Hindu Society was formed at Queen’s College. It was open to all they said, not just for Hindus. I joined it; in order to learn about India, its culture, history and ancient religion, Hinduism. As far as I can recall, the meetings were informative and pleasant. Prior to these meetings, my contact with Hinduism had been restricted to the main festivals of Diwali and Holi, or Phagwah as it was more popularly called. On Diwali night, the residents of Georgetown enjoyed the sight of lit diyas (small earthen lamps) which Hindus placed on their window sills and on their stairs, fences and driveways. On Phagwah day, Guyanese of all backgrounds would get involved in the merriment and throwing of water on each other. It was a fun thing, and I’m sure that the religious significance and historical background on the festival completely escaped many of us.

After leaving high school, I went through a period of marking time. Eventually, I secured employment as a legal clerk at the Supreme Court Registry in Georgetown. It was during the course of my employment there that I met my wife. I also met and became friends with Walter Choy. He had also attended Queen’s, and had been a year or two ahead of me. For some reason, we never met during our years at Queen’s, although I recalled seeing him there. This was not so strange really, considering tha our schedules were different and that inter-form friendships were uncommon, especially with Seniors Walter, or “Wally” as he was called by friends, had a fabulous intellect. He was an avid reader an possessed of great insight and intuition. We enjoyed many animated conversations, on a range of topics These discussions usually took place over drinks.

One day, Wally lent me a book. It was “Autobiography of a Yogi” by Paramahansa Yogananda. This book made a profound impression on me. It is one of those rare works which has the ring of truth of every page. Yogananda was a true and great yogi, who left India for America, on a mission to share the ancient spiritual wealth of India with westerners. He succeeded magnificently, and today the Self Realization Fellowship he founded in Encinitas, California carries on his work. The book is a classic, and is an excellent introduction to India’s finest gift to the world: its spiritual heritage. It is not about frozen ritual or dry, musty texts. It is, rather, an insider’s account of the life of the spirit, the hidden and the sacred - beautifully narrated and based on actual experience. I had never read anything like this before. I reflected frequently on the content of the book. It was as if a new dimension to reality, and a new way of looking at life, had been opened up to me.

Some months passed before I saw Wally again. He looked different; transformed. No more drinking and smoking. There was an aura of peace and serenity about him. He explained the change to me. A Raja Yoga Center had recently opened on Waterloo Street; his street. It was run by Sisters who had come to Guyana from India. The meditation and vibrations were very powerful. I should check it out. “But what about Yogananda’s path?” I asked. “This is higher” he replied, “the highest - period”. I was intrigued.

I decided to pay a visit to the Raj Yoga center. This was around the middle of 1976. The center was then based in a small concrete house recessed from the edge of Waterloo Street - what is known in Guyana as a ‘back house’. I walked straight into a meditation session. I joined the gathering by sitting down on the sponged floor. I had no idea what was happening. Why is everyone so silent I thought? And why are they just looking straight ahead? I regret to say that I got ‘the funnies’ and nearly started laughing out loud. In front of the gathering, facing us and seated on a couch, were some females. They seemed to be from and in another world. This is strange I thought. What is this?

Over the next weeks, I made some more visits to the Yoga center. I learnt that these Sisters from India were called Brahma Kumaris. I still did not understand the method and purpose of the meditation, or the framework of spiritual knowledge behind it. But the vibrations were pure and powerful, and that was the thing that attracted me. I met Wally again and he attempted to fill me in on the points of knowledge. It sounded a bit strange to me. I did not fully grasp or digest it. Nonetheless, I was impressed. I determined to give up drinking and smoking, as Wally had done. I was never a big drinker but I had developed a substantial dependence on cigarettes. I quit both these vices cold turkey. Nicotine is a powerfully addictive substance, and I felt the pangs of withdrawal for weeks after. But they eventually subsided, and I was free. The alcohol was not a problem. Secretly, I had always preferred milk shakes anyway.

After getting married, my wife and I moved to Guyana’s Essequibo Coast. My mother’s family operated a timber business there. I had been born in Essequibo, and had lived the first few years of my life on the Essequibo Coast, before my parents relocated to Georgetown. So, for me, returning was like completing the circle. My job involved junior accounting in the company office and some supervision of the sawmilling operations. The house in which I was born had long been dismantled. My wife and I lived in a house which had been built in its place, on the very same site. Completing the circle…indeed.

At this time, unknown to me, Wally had left for India. He was part of a small group from Guyana that had gone on a pilgrimage to Mount Abu, in Rajasthan, where the Headquarters of the Brahma Kumaris Spiritual University is located. I discovered this around March of 1977. I was in Essequibo and was reading “The Citizen”, a recently launched evening newspaper, when an item caught my eye. It was an interview, captioned “Raj Yoga helped Walter Choy find himself”. Inset, was a picture of Wally, looking like a blissful sage. I devoured the interview. Wally had just returned from Mount Abu, and the reported was asking him questions about Raj Yoga, his experience of transformation and India. His answers were informative and inspiring. I was very impressed. So much so, that I decided to implement an idea I had been toying with - I would “go” vegetarian. And so it was. To this day, I remain a vegetarian. In the gung-ho world of rugged individualism, there is a fetish about being original and avoiding influence. They forget that there is such a thing as good influence. This was a case in point.

After six months, we left Essequibo and returned to Georgetown. I had become increasingly concerned about being away from the Raj Yoga center. I wanted to continue my exploration of this spiritual path. I was in correspondence with Wally, and had received several transcendent letters from him. This helped to keep my spirits afloat, but it was not enough. I needed to be where the action was. I managed to regain my job at the Registry. I began attending classes at the Yoga center in earnest. By this time the center had relocated to an imposing building on High street; this was to be a permanent site. The fundamentals of The Knowledge were thought to me, in the seven day introductory course, by Dr Hemlata Sanghi, a Brahma Kumari Sister from Hyderabad, India - a very sharp soul. Slowly but surely, I began to understand. At this point, it is apposite to provide the reader with a one paragraph, highly condensed crash course in the basics of the Raj Yoga knowledge.

The world is in a mess. It will soon be destroyed, by nuclear war and natural disasters. In the past, religious founders, prophets and saints came. Now, an event of astronomical proportions has occurred. Indeed, nothing could be greater. The Supreme Soul, the Incorporeal Father of All Souls, God Almighty himself has come. This happened in 1936, in India, when the Supreme Soul, Shiva, descended into the body of a man named Lekhraj and, through that medium, started giving spiritual knowledge. He, Shiva, revealed that time is cyclic, not linear.

The duration of the world cycle is five thousand years, and it is divided into four ages of 1,250 years each. According to Hindu tradition, these ages are known as Sat yug, Treta yug, Dwarpa yug and Kali yug. For convenience, the names Golden, Silver, Copper and Iron ages are used. The Cycle repeats eternally and identically. We are now in the final years of Kali Yug or the Iron age. The Cycle is/will be brought to an end by global destruction, following which the Golden ag will begin. God has descended to alert us and to teach and purify souls, so that they may become worth of rebirth as deities in the Golden Age, following destruction. The recommended method for purification involves continence, a pure diet and meditation or, as it is sometimes put, “remembrance of the Supreme”. Sins are burnt in the fire of meditation. The relatively short period of time when God himself is directly active in the world, for the purposes of re-establishment of the deity kingdom, is called the Confluence Age or, in Hindi, “Sangam yug”. The Confluence Age straddles and bridges the last years of the Iron Age and the beginning years of the Golden Age. It began in 1936, with Shiva’s descent. It’s duration is less than one hundred years. †

There are, or course, many other aspects to the Raj Yoga knowledge - but The Cycle is the key. This was the thing that gave me the most trouble. Ironically, Yogananda’s book, a work I so admire, was the basis of my difficulty. The Cycle is an integral part of Indian mythology and Hindu cosmology. It was discussed in Yogananda’s book. The problem was that even Yogananda had accepted the traditional estimates of its duration, which run into hundreds of thousands of years. However, Shiva has explained that these figures are very inaccurate. According to the Supreme, the duration of The Cycle is “only” five thousand years. The entire world drama plays out in that period - fifty centuries. The preconception I had as regards the duration of The Cycle, became, for a while, a barrier to accepting this. Eventually I did, mainly because this revelation came from higher authority - the highest.

I got involved in the service side of things, explaining The Knowledge to others - spreading the word basically. A World Renewal Spiritual Museum had been constructed below the Raj Yoga Center on High Street. I took turns explaining the exhibits to guests. There were even some out of town programs, to places like Bartica. A memorable trip was the one we made to the Essequibo Coast. The program was well attended wherever we went on the Coast. The people of Essequibo were very gracious and hospitable.

One of the objectives of Raj Yogis is to visit the Headquarters of the movement, in Mount Abu, Rajasthan, India; for the purpose of meeting with the Supreme Soul. Raj Yogis affectionately refer to Shiva as “Shiv Baba” or simply as “Baba”. The word “Baba” in Hindi means Father. When they speak of “Shiv Baba” or “Baba” they are not referring to any human being or bodily form. They mean the Supreme Soul, who has no body of his own - he is an incorporeal point of light, invisible to human eyes He, the Supreme Soul, this invisible point of light, is the head of the movement. It is he who has bee giving the spiritual knowledge and advice, through medium, since 1936. For many years, he descended daily; now he does so seasonally, every year. He guides the movement, frequently giving detailed instructions and advice for spiritual service. In this crucial sense, the organization is unique an unprecedented in the world.

Shiv Baba renamed Dada Lekhraj, his first medium, “Brahma” because, Baba said, “Brahma is the creator, and through him I create the new world”. Brahma passed on - or, as it is more elegantly put in Raj Yoga, he left his body - in 1969; to be with Shiv Baba in the angelic world. Since Brahma’s ascension, there has been a second medium. She is Dadi Gulzar, a senior Brahma Kumari Sister, based in Mount Abu. The combination of Shiva and Brahma in the angelic region is called “BapDada”. Raj Yogis go to Mount Abu to meet BapDada through the medium of Dadi Gulzar. Like most newcomers, this became a fervent aim of mine. What experience could be greater? What could be more uplifting?

I began to explore the avenues for studies in India. I made enquiries from the Indian Cultural Center and the Indian High Commission in Georgetown, as well as from knowledgeable persons, and I was given information about the Central Institute of Hindi (CIH) in New Delhi. The CIH was the Indian Government’s premier institution for the teaching of Hindi to foreigners. The Institute offered a series of progressively advanced one year courses in Hindi. The Institute admitted me for a three year course of study, leading to a Certificate, Diploma and Advanced Diploma in Hindi.

Hindi is one of India’s major languages and ranks fourth, after Chinese, English and Spanish, in terms of numbers of speakers globally. In dialect form, it was the language of my ancestors. Without a doubt, the greatest loss engendered by emigration from India was the loss of language. Many years later, in a discussion with an Indian dancer in Toronto, I baited her by asking “You Indians from India don’t really consider we Indians in the Caribbean to be Indian do you?” Without hesitation, she replied “No, we don’t. Do you know why?” “Why?” I asked. Because you don’t speak the language.” she replied, entirely without malice.

Many have pondered on the relative benefits and demerits of the immigration experience. The consensus seems to be that, on the whole, it was beneficial. In terms of standard economic and quality of life markers, it is unarguable that the descendants of immigrants from India were put in a much better position than they would have been in India, had their ancestors not made the move. But the loss of language was a dear price to pay. The problematic position of relocated Indians, and the loss/gain issue, is discussed by Shiva Naipaul, with characteristic acuity and penetrating insight, in chapter three of his book “North of South”. In non-fiction, he was sharper than his illustrious elder Brother. I am uncertain as to how effective or successful he was in his novels.

Hindi is also the language in which Shiv Baba delivers his discourses, or “Murlis” as they are called in Raj Yoga. The Hindi word “Murli”, meaning “flute”, is very poetic and appropriate; Shiv Baba enters a medium and speaks, as a flautist makes music by blowing wind through a hollow flute. Baba has revealed that the language of Sat yug, the Golden Age, was, and will be, a very pure form of Hindi, not Sanskrit or a precursor as some might assume.

We arrived in India in August of 1979. Delhi was a pleasant surprise. I had gone blindly, not knowing what the living conditions were. My involvement in Raj Yoga and my spiritual quest were the impetus for my going. I should have investigated living conditions before leaving - but I did not. Fortunately, what I discovered made me realise that if I had depended on the images of India conveyed by the Western media, I probably would have been hesitant to go, and even more so to take my family. Filthy narrow lanes, old wooden buildings and people defecating copiously in the streets is what comes to mind. The reality was, thankfully, very different. New Delhi is a modern, well planned city, with good roads and many tree lined avenues. It is a veritable outdoor museum; a mixture of the modern and the old, with many striking and majestic buildings. Practically all of the buildings are constructed out of concrete and/or stone. It compares favourably with cities in the West, surpassing many of them.

I began my classes at the Institute. There, I met students from the Soviet Union, China, Europe, U.Silver Age. Japan and other countries. I also made contact with some of the Indian Brothers and Sisters at the Raj Yoga center which was closest to us. I visited the center and attended classes there on the weekends. The next “season” in Mount Abu was beginning in December, which was just a few months away. I should have been preparing for the big event, but I was not. I had become less disciplined in terms of attendance at Yoga classes. Of course, it was still my intention and desire to go to Mount Abu. After all, that is the ultimate.

December came and Raj Yogis from all parts of India, and from countries around the world, were heading for Mount Abu. The Guyana group arrived in Delhi and I linked up with it. To Abu we go! We set out by train, from Delhi to Abu Road - a grueling journey of some 18 hours. Most of us travelled second class, which was fairly comfortable, if somewhat cramped. Some had booked sleeper bunks.I wished I had. At one of the many stops, I came out for a stroll and looked into a third class carriage. Objectively, it was hellish; people huddled and squatting on its floor. Subjectively, it was, apparently, not that bad; most of them seemed happy - jabbering away and smiling. Eventually, we arrived at Abu Road and transferred to buses for the trip up the mountain. The bus slowly spiraled its way around and up the mountain. Up, up, up…and then we were there - at last.

We were housed in dormitories. There were over a thousand people there. We were all accommodated. Indians from all parts of India were there. Russians were there. Germans. The British, of course Japanese, Australians, Americans and others. All had come to meet Shiv Baba or, to be more accurate, BapDada. We rose early in the mornings, had a bath and went down to the large meditation hall for early morning meditation. This was followed by breakfast. During the day, there were meetings workshops and visits to nearby places. After dinner, we would again take our places in the large meditation hall for the evening session. This is when BapDada came.

This is how it would happen. We would all be seated on the cushioned floor of the large meditation hall. Over a thousand yogis, all wearing white. We would be meditating with open eyes. The vibrations were powerful and pure. Pin drop silence. Seated on a couch, at the head of the hall, facing us, was Dadi Gulzar - BapDada’s medium. She would be meditating intensely. After about half an hour, there would be a sudden, involuntary jerk of her body, particulary her head. Her eyes would close and, as her consciousness was pulled upwards, she would lose awareness of her surroundings. (Whenever BapDada uses the vehicle of her body to speak, she is unaware; she has to be told afterwards what was said. Indeed, there have been times when BapDada has left messages for Dadi Gulzar!) Her eyes remain closed for some time. Then, slowly, they open. They are no longer her eyes. The atmosphere is electrifying. We can all feel it; BapDada is now here. He looks around very slowly, with the highly charged spiritual gaze that is known as drishti. He gives drishti for a few minutes. Then he begins to speak. The voice is unearthly…like nothing I have ever heard before ... intense ... focused ... deliberate ... whisper. A powerful public address system amplifies the sound.

After greeting the gathering, BapDada would then deliver his discourse - the Murli. During my short stay in Abu, in his Murli of January 2, 1980, BapDada described what the Golden Age would be like. In terms of its explicitness of detail, it was an unusual Murli. These were some of the astonishing revelations:

* The movement of the leaves of the trees will make natural music, as will the songs of the birds. On signal, the birds will entertain with their voices and games they will play.

* Green leafed vegetables will not be used. Dishes will be made out of flowers and fruits.

* The streams will flow over medicinal herbs and the water will acquire natural fragrance.

* Drawing will be an important pastime. Everyone will have artistic and musical talent.

* All work will be performed on the basis of atomic energy.

* There will not be cinemas, but entertainment will take the form of plays and comedy.

* There will be a variety of aircraft - both for individual and family transport. These craft will be incredibly fast - great distances will be traversed in the time it takes to make a phone call. (These are the “viman” of ancient lore - a reality in Sat Yug, not a myth).

The time came for the groups from various countries to meet with BapDada. There would be a group meetings and then individual meetings. I was a part of the Guyana group, which was made up of about six people. We were called up to the front of the hall, and we sat on the floor, in front of BapDada. He addressed the group, made some comments about Guyana, and then the individual meetings began. My turn came. I was seated in front of the Supreme. We were about four feet apart. One of the Brahm Kumaris introduced me. I had been backsliding - skipping Yoga classes. He knew. He knows everything. He began by asking me a question; “Do you like the study of Godly knowledge?”. “I like knowledge.” answered, diplomatically, but truthfully.

BapDada then said that if I combined my family responsibilities with the yogi life I could bring benefit to innumerable souls. I said “Thank you Baba.”. He looked at me for a second. There was love in those eyes. And that was it. I later had a second meeting with BapDada. One of the Brahma Kumaris kindly arranged for me to meet again, as part of the Delhi group. This was appropriate, as I was a resident of Delhi at the time. Shortly after this, I left Mount Abu and returned to Delhi.

Our three years in India were the best in our lives. On this, we are agreed. A relatively small number of people from the Caribbean have visited India. A smaller number still have lived there. Most of those were students who lived alone in rather straitened circumstances. They may not have fond memories of the place and their time there. Our situation and circumstances were atypical. My wife was gainfully employed. We had good accommodation and were, quite frankly, privileged. This, no doubt, positively affected our experience of the country. India’s riches - historic, cultural and material - were available to us. The subjective aspect is very important. A person may be very happy in a poor country and miserable in a supposedly rich one. I write from experience, having lived for the last ten years in Canada; a country ranked number one by the U.N. - for what, I am not sure.

We explored the country, mainly by car. We drove to Jaipur, Agra, Hardwar, Rishikesh, Chandigarh and Amritsar. We also visited the lovely hill stations at Simla and Mussoorie. I purchased an air pass and flew by Indian Airlines, the local carrier, to most of India’s major cities; Aurangabad, (I visited the astonishing Ellora caves, carved from the top down), Bombay (the Elephanta caves), Trivandrum (I relaxed at Kovalam beach and went by bus to Cape Comorin - or Kanya Kumari, to give it its Indian name - at the southern tip of India), Madras, Bangalore, and Srinagar. Ironically, Calcutta, which was the port of departure for most of the immigrants who came to the Caribbean, was not on my itinerary. The furthest east I got was when I traveled by train to Banares, also known as Kashi and Varanasi.

While there, I visited Banares Hindu University and saw the Laksmi Narayan temple, constructed on its campus by Birla, the famous Indian industrialist and philanthropist. I viewed the funeral ghats along the banks of the Ganges and took a boat ride on the sacred river; an exhilarating experience for me, made more meaningful by the fact that I had lived on Ganges Street for most of my life…completing the circle. I made the short trip from Varanasi to neighbouring Sarnath, where the Buddha preached his first sermon. I was impressed by the Buddhist stupa there, built by Ashoka. It stands in sober contrast to the garis’ colourfulness to which Indians seem to be attached. Delhi itself has much to offer, both from the tourist and consumer standpoint. In the center of the city, in Connaught Place, is Palika Bazaar. At the time, it was reputedly the largest underground shopping mall in Asia - air conditioned, of course.

The Taj Mahal deserves special mention. All the cliches are true; grief transfixed in marble; love mad manifest; the most beautiful building in the world; the incarnation in India of the soul of Persia etc. It evokes silence - and profound respect. The visitor is aware of the sacred. Unfortunately, the topography of Agra is not what it was in the days of the Mughuls. Agra is now a congested and dusty city. This has to be factored in when putting the Taj in proper perspective. It was built in a setting quite different from what it is today. Years later, I came across an historical novel by an Indian writer - T.N Murari’s “Taj” - which captures, uncannily, the history of the Mughuls and the love story of Shah Jahan and Arjumand Banu. With great artistry, and a firm grasp of the historical background, Murari gives an insider’s fly-on the-wall account of the Mughul era and the tragic romance. A very accomplished work. I do not follow these things closely, but it is my impression that while other Indian writers of lesser talent have garnered hefty encomiums, Murari’s achievement has gone relatively unsung.

We left India in August of 1982. I had completed my courses and my wife her assignment Immediately, I began the five year Caribbean law program. Again, influence was a factor. My elder Brother, who was in the program, encouraged me to study law. I was called to the bar in Guyana in 1987 and began working as a prosecutor. The tropical paradise had evaporated. We later emigrated to Canada, where I eventually re-qualified as a lawyer.

With stubborn resilience, my dislocated being has asserted itself. I have long forgotten the little Hindi I learnt in India. Still, when I look back at my three years there, I feel grateful and privileged to have had the chance to live in and experience the eternal land. A rare opportunity for an Indo-Caribbean person. It is an imperishable treasure which helps to keep me centered, in an environment which is less than friendly to one’s sense of psychic well being. The ’song’ of the Murli comes to mind: “Do not forget the days of your childhood”. I try to keep this in mind and to be a detached observer of the world drama which is making its way, slowly but surely, to its tryst with destiny - its horrific denouement.

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WRITER’S NOTES:

1. Walter Choy has since passed on. This article is dedicated to his memory.

2. Paramahansa Yoganada. Autobiography of a Yogi, Self Realization Fellowship, Los Angeles, 1993. This edition, the twelfth, is the latest.

3. The life story of Dada Lekhraj, the history of the Brahma Kumaris World Spiritual University he founded, the fundamentals of Raj Yoga, and a lot more, is now available on the internet. The URL of the website is http://www.BKWSU.com/

4 . Shiva Naipaul, North of South, Penguin Books, New York, 1982, chapter three, pp. 96-122.

5 . Only committed Raj Yogis, who have been observing the required principles for an approved period, are permitted to visit Mount Abu when BapDada’s season is on.

6 . The complete text of the Murli of January 2, 1980 has been appended to the second edition of Jagdish Chander, Adi Dev;the First Man, Brahma Kumaris World Spiritual University, Singapore, 1983, pp. 279-283. This book is available at Brahma Kumaris Raj Yoga centers worldwide.

7 . T.N. Murari, Taj, New English Library, London, 1985. Four years later, a novel twice the size, with the identical title, was released by Colin De Silva, the Sri Lankan author of the Sinhala Quartet. See Colin De Silva, Taj, Grafton Books, London, 1989. The two books are clearly different. Even so, it is odd that in his opening “Note”, De Silva makes no mention of the earlier ‘Taj’. Murari’s work sets the standard.

† Confluence Age originally taught at 40 years

2 Responses to “A Tribute to a Great Brother”

Atri Prashad Says: August 14th, 2007 at 12:02 pm

My Grandfather Hari Prashad owned and developed PRASHAD NAGAR, most of the Prashad family live in the UK. V. Int account, I will mention your name to my uncles - they know everybody!!

Best regards

Atri Prashad

Hari Prashad Says: March 20th, 2008 at 1:10 am

I am Hari Prashad named after my grandfather. Aja was a unique character to say the least. He was loved by many, feared by his foes, yet respected by everyone. My other Granfather, Sugrim Singh was also a fantastic charachter in the making of Guyanese history. I welcome any comments and look forward to visiting my home town that my family created. Hari Prashad