The Great Sannyasi
BY: B.K. DIGVIJAYA
Jan 12, 2011 — INDIA (SUN) — Pandit Dhirendranath Sharma awoke early. It was still two hours till the sun would rise. Lighting a candle, he looked in the mirror. There were new wrinkles on his brown skin, and his coarse grey hair was thinning. Still, he was a lithe man, and in good health for his 69 years. He peeked through the curtain into the next room and saw that the family was still asleep. His son Pranendranath was cuddled up with his grandson Jagannath, who had been born a year ago to this day. His daughter-in-law, Bahurani was asleep off in the far bedroom.
The Pandit shuffled through the desk and found his favorite fountain pen somewhere in the drawer. Pulling out his notebook, jotted down these few words: "When a man seen his grey hair and sees also the son of his son, it is time to pursue the fourth order. I have finished 69 years and therefore I am now in my 70th year. I begin a malefic planetary period in a little over eighteen months. Therefore I know what must be done. Whatever I own, I leave to my son. I am going to Vraja to prepare for my last days. Bless you one and all. Krishna matir astu."
Panditji made his bed as he had done with his own hands since his wife had passed away from heart failure before one year. Reaching in his chest of drawers he pulled out his best pashmina chaddar, two dhotis, a couple of gumchas and a few extra yards of rough cotton cloth he had purchased last year at the khadi bhavan in Mathura while on pilgrimage. He rubbed his hands over the fine Kashmiri wool shawl and recalled how his wife had presented this chaddar to him as a very special birthday present when he turned 60. Immediately, he put it back in the drawer and withdrew the plain wool blanket, the one with moth holes that he used while sitting alone on cold evenings. It would be more suitable.
He went to kitchen and, passing the bright new steel utensils on the shelf, found the old brass lota his father had used somewhere in the back. He rinsed it and returned to his room. Slipping out the front door, he bathed quickly in the dark stillness of Brahma muhurta by using the hand pump, the same one he had used since he was a child. He had lived in this cement house in this village of Birauli outside of Faizabad, UP for his entire life.
With his yellowing eyes, his gaze swept the courtyard one last time. He had no regrets.
He did not need a bag. Folding everything compactly, he tied the khadi cloth around the few possessions he required, made a strap of the remaining piece of cloth and slung it over his shoulder. Reaching into his drawer, he withdrew a one hundred rupee note, folded it, and changed his mind. He replaced it in the plastic wallet the bank had given him when he opened his account twenty-five years ago. Instead of taking the larger note, he counted out five rupees in small denomination notes and coins and folded his wealth into his dhoti. His grandson might need something so he had best leave as much as he could. Besides, what is the need for money in the land where the Supreme Lord takes care of His own?
It was a brisk walk of maybe an hour to the stone ghat at the Ghagara River where it was narrow enough to wade across this time of year. Arriving at the shore, he paused there until sunrise when Kashyaplal the barber arrived and set up shop on his burlap bag. Once Dhirendranath's head was shaved, all except for a grey shikha, he gave whatever money he had, five rupees, to the barber and waded into the river. With the Sun now gaining strength in the East, he completed his brahminical prayers. He hoped that the next time he performed such prayers, he would be reciting the sacred syllables of sannyasa mantras.
He knew exactly what his destination would be. A great Maharaja, a sannyasi of the Gaudiya Vaishnava sampradaya, had set up camp about an hour's walk beyond the river. With luck, he would arrive at his feet before noon. It was the Makara Sankranti day when the Sun enters into the region of the celestials, and he wanted to sit in the guru's presence before the exact time when sunrise meets sunset. That was the unbreakable moment when anything performed is accompanied by the luster of success.
By the time Dhirendranath Sharma crossed the shallow waters, it was nearly eight o'clock. As he rubbed his hand over his shaved head, he felt refreshed. Stepping briskly from the water, he was looking forward to his years ahead, sheltered of the Name of God dressed in the attire of a simple renunciate.
It was eleven thirty when the pandit finally found the Maharaja and gained his blessed darshan. The guru appeared stately and wise, sitting beneath a great banyan tree attended by his brahmachari servants. Dhirendranath approached him cautiously, though he knew he had to make his request now before the precious muhurta was lost to time. The approaching moment once gone could not be reclaimed.
Bowing low at the swami's feet, Dhirendranath submitted himself. "O great Maharaja, I long to enter the renounced order, and--abandoning all desires--simply perform parikrama around Govardhan Hill till the last of my days. I long to hear the pravochan of the renounced followers of Mahaprabhu as their instructions waft across Radha Kund on the full moon night of Kartika. I long only for the Holy Names of God to emanate from my lips. Please, O saint, therefore I beg you to initiate me into the renounced order.
The saint inhaled deeply and closed his eyes thoughtfully. Dhirendranath wanted to taste the same other-worldly trance that he felt his aspiring guru was feeling. In his heart, which was now beating in anticipation, he knew that this move, which he had hoped for cherished his entire life, was the will of God. Slowly, the guru opened his eyes. Dhirendranath prepared to hang upon every word for even the most casual syllables of the guru are taken as shastric commands. Catching his aspirant's eyes in the magnetism of his vision, thus spake the guru:
"Since that's what you want, the steering committee might be able to put you on the sannyasa list maybe sometime in the near future, say around 2012. I dunno, the list is pretty crowded, because there's a lot of ambition out there these days. I mean look at the fringe benefits. Maybe there's a slot on the TWL, the ten-year waiting list, if you're lucky. But there is no assurance in this business. This ain't free tickets to the football game, you know. It's pretty serious stuff even with a little luck thrown into the mix.
"I mean, anyway, I don't want to lie to you. The sannyasa minister is at a yoga retreat somewhere in the Poconos now. Besides, I doubt there's any room on the agenda for discussing such things at this year's meeting with all the lawsuits and more important business. Since the leadership committee's power lunch is just three months away, you understand that it is already beyond the last minute to put these items on the slate. Maybe at next year's GBC meeting at the earliest, if you can convince enough swamis to put in a good word for you.
"Hey, I know what, why not just clean the toilets in the camp until we're ready to think about it, once the other more important business interests have been solved. By the way, how much money did you bring? Sannaysa means surrender, you know. Hand it over. Anyway, I don't want to irritate the Sannyasa Minister with unimportant requests because he's pretty busy these days trying to update his website. Hey, that's an idea. Why not find an Internet café and drop the Sannyasa Minister an e-mail?"
