Finally God in the Punjab
My body was born in the west but my soul was waiting for me in India
Finally God in the Punjab
Ron Ravi Dass reaches India in early 1965 with Michael Riggs (Bhagavan Dass) over land from Athens and this photo is taken by a Sikh family of me days after a jolt of electricity went through his body when he first stepped on Indian soil. He was asked to speak at the local Hindu temple in Ferozepur, Punjab about God. I was an atheist. Who did they see? Who am I?
Due to the recent wars between India and Pakistan, the only way to cross the border at Lahore was to take a short train ride from Lahore to Ferozepore, Punjab, and stop on the border where they review visas on the train. Finally the much anticipated moment after a month of dusty roads and wilderness or maybe many years, we kept going and pulled into Indian territory. We gathered our things, I got off the train and just as my foot touched the Indian ground I felt a sudden jolt of electricity throughout my body. It traveled from my foot right to the top of my head. It was definitely real and I remember it always, even now, an image as vivid as any I have ever had in my life, as my welcome back to my soul’s home or maybe putting the soul back into Ravi Dass/Ron Zimardi.
We made it to the mystic East of Siddhartha and just like him we gave up everything to seek our true natures. I knew I belonged here, was welcomed here; the values and traditions of India deeply embedded in me from previous lifetimes I imagined. I have been enriched and enhanced as a person by India and always owe it a great debt of gratitude no matter what I say about its current condition. That pretty much sums up the feelings of every one of the hundreds of people I know who have come here. (Except for the inept US government who always sides with Pakistan.) What would life be like for us now? In Ferozepore Bhagavan Das and my life took two different turns as this would be the trend throughout our future chance meetings (up till some years ago when I stopped noticing entirely).
We took a rickshaw into the town in search of lodging, not knowing where the hell we were in India, only that we need to get to Delhi somehow. And here we experienced the first taste of Indian hospitality (vs. that of our Muslim friends in Iran and Pakistan) that I was to have in the many years of traveling around this most holy land. The scenario is always the same, the rickshaw-wallah does not have a clue where you are going, only take foreigners far and charge them for it and leave them and escape. You start yelling at them because it’s getting ridiculous and then an Indian will invariably come to the rescue, sort the problem out for the poor foreigner, tell you how much to pay and take you home with him. It must be his Vedic duty to strangers, father, mother, and then guest. Maybe that is why they were always occupied by foreign armies.
It turns out this time we stopped in front of the town music instrument store and the men who came out owned the shop, they were Sikhs. They took us immediately a few blocks to the big family two-story house down a dirt lane and gave us rooms and food. This went on for quite some days. They organized bhajan singing for us and Bhagavan Das sang for them on his guitar. One day we all made a pilgrimage to the main Sikh holy shrine in Amritsar, the famous Golden temple. We walked around the large pool, went into the inner temple and bowed to the holy book, the Granth Sahib, not realizing then that it contained poetry of Sant Raidas, my future name. They customarily feed you at every Gurdhwara and then we left. Strange, my first big interaction was with Sikhs not Hindus in India, I always liked them and have met many in the last fifty years. They are usually so groomed and clean, easily identifiable and business like, maybe that is why they attract us at times compared to the innumerable Hindus who are all over the map socially and caste-wise.
Then one day a week later in the bazaar, a prosperous village Hindu business man took us on a tour of his house and showed us a closed off room he said was used for meditation retreats. Mind you this spiritual and yoga stuff is all completely voodoo to us. He would put you in this dark room and provide food for a week under the door and you were expected to commune with the gods. This was not for me yet, but Bhagavan Das in his usual extreme approach accepted and the next day stepped into history. I said I would wait, just playing with the adorable little Sikh kids, eating and hanging out. But that was not my ethereal entry into the history books for some people from the town came to see me that week and asked if I would speak to the villagers. I said why not, how hard could that be. So on Saturday they came to fetch me and as we got going many more people joined the parade and I was getting skeptical and nervous, what had I agreed to. We ended up at the local Hindu temple where there were hundreds of people sitting on the ground and I thought I would just join them but they led me to a takhat like the one Maharaji sits on of wood and asked me to sit down cross-legged with my back to the temple deity, garlanded me with marigolds and then all in unison looked up at me from the ground smiling. Someone said something in Hindi like an introduction and I stared at them in frozen time not knowing still what to do. But then words just babbled out of my atheist mouth with the topic of my talk ‘God is One’. I wish I had a recording of this because this had to be the reason for the lighting bolt at the station. All I remember is that phrase, maybe I went into a trance and kept talking. I must have said many things or maybe just ‘God is one’ over and over as if in a trance like a Himalayan yogi. They expected me to say something like this looking as I did the American Jesus holy man. After I was done babbling, more garlands and they touched my feet and we went home. I have no clue what I said still. One day you are here to indulge in drugs and the next day you are telling the converted and the blessed to believe in God. That was not me, I was possessed, and by whom I did not know yet. I will go back this trip if possible to see the descendants of the family and see this temple where I spoke, show them the photo, some of whom are probably still in the music store and surprise them, and maybe even give another talk. (It never happened, but hello anyway.)
So Bhagavan Das is in lock-down for a week and I am getting restless alone so instead of waiting, I left a message that I took the train to Delhi, wished him good luck (I thought probably he would last a few days at most but he did the whole week), and I will meet you at the Ashoka Vihara hostel in Mehrauli. (Jump ahead seven years.)
Ravi Dass Journals 1971
November 7, 1971 Vrindavan
‘The Sant Ravi Dass Story’ .
The first thing Maharaji said to me when I offered prasad at 11 a.m. was “sannyasi”, something which he had not repeated since the first few days of his darshan five months before. Around 2 or 3 p.m. when we were preparing to take his leave he shouted out and bestowed the name and blessing, ‘Sant Ravi Dass’ upon me. It was so stunning! It came with no previous hint or name game as per usual with the many others in the name game. He asked me if I liked the name and I said yes, all the time becoming higher and higher and more blissful, I almost passed out. (It was not usual for Maharaji to talk to me so often as some of the others.)
He, Ravi Dass or Raidas was the Guru of Mirabai – Linda Bush. He said Ravi Dass had great devotion to Lord Krishna and was a shoemaker. He had even diverted the Ganges to pass through his house. He also kept gold belonging to Lord Krishna in his house as he was regarded so honest and pure. Maharaji asked me if I would give my possessions away to poor people as was the custom and practice of Ravi Dass himself to whosoever asked. I laughed and laughed as everyone else present did and said I didn’t care as I hardly by now had any things in my possession. I had come this very day in only a langoti and Ram Dass shawl around my shoulders and feeling very depressed and bored. It was the most unexpected event to be given a name at all much less on this day with no forewarning. One special thing was that the word or title ‘Sant’ –Saint was prefixed to the name – a great honor no doubt coming from Maharaji – the strangest thing he said was the same thing he said to Ram Dass about the Baba Ramdas of Shivaji fame and that is I was the very same Raidas who lived in the 15th century previously -- not just a name but a reincarnation. He also asked the pundit present to recite a story about Ravi Dass in Hindi which sounded like part of the name ceremony but I didn’t understand anything at all.
Week of November 7, 1971, Vrindavan
I asked Maharaji some short questions pertaining to Ravi Dass. He said Ravi Dass was born in a village near to Agra in Mathura District called, Runkuttuck. He said I should or could go there for a visit after Nainital. I seemed to be even after a few days still very pleased with the name, I seemed to feel it very deeply and pleasantly rather than know anything about it intellectually. I never even had a chance to ask the Indians at the temple who knew of Ravi Dass what they knew, thanks to Maharaji no doubt. Everybody has been calling me Ravi Dass or Raidas easily and it sounds nice although I am beginning to feel the difficult dharma in trying to live up to the name.
Ravi Dass wrote poetry and his poems appeared in the Sikh Granth Sahib – a translation of which I saw in Kausani and shall try to re-read again. I feel as if I must make Ravi Dass re-live his dharma in the 20th century by research and practice. I feel that having this saint’s name for me is more spiritual than having a name of an avatar or god or goddess, i.e., Krishnadas.
Nainital November 10, 1971 Hotel Evelyn
I feel that Ravi Dass and Christ were very similar in their beliefs and attitudes. I have told S.L. and KK Sah about my new identity and they were very happy. It seems they both like and appreciate Ravi Dass’ life very much. KK has written some poems about Ravi Dass and also some sort of book which I will go over with him. SL has some stories he is going to tell me about Ravi Dass. He says ‘Ravi’ means ‘sun’. One story is that Ravi Dass was born a sudra, (a Haryan or untouchable) one of the strange ways in which God manifests himself, and was a cobbler who utilized leather as his medium in a caste-conscious society. He rose from the lowest social position to become a God-realized saint who had as his disciples and devotees very high persons in society including the Queen of Udaipur and others. He was once invited to a big dinner function in a Brahmin’s house and while he was sitting with the guests they objected to his presence being a sudra. He was asked to take his food away from the guests alone. But while the others were eating each one saw Ravi Dass sitting by him or her side to their amazement. I also discovered through Balaram Das that there is something about Ravi Dass in the ‘Illustrated Weekly’ – an article about Haryans in which Ravi Dass as a medieval Indian social reformer was mentioned along with Buddha and Gandhi-ji. I found out by way of a photo therein that in the Indian stamp edition of famous saints, Ravi Dass was included and am attempting to secure one sheet of his stamps. It said: Sant Ravi Dass - a stamp for the 15th century saint-poet who was born a cobbler and sang as he made shoes. He said: “what is dear to God is devotion; He payeth no heed to caste.’ Ravi Dass made an idol out of hide to demonstrate that God was in everything. I am beginning to recognize various parallels in my present incarnation and that of Ravi Dass from what little I know already. I also was a poet for many years. One might say that in terms of my recent spiritual evolvement I rose from the lowest state of evolution to a disciple of Maharaji and also socially from an Italian-Jew of a poor laboring class family to a college-educated graduate etc. I have always felt very sympathetic to poor people and beings (although I didn’t always do anything positive about my feelings).
Diary November 29, 1971 Vrindavan Mirabai
Maharaji says Raidas was the Guru of Mirabai. (Maharaji called me Kabir twice in the last two days and once Sharma said it was Raidas and today I said I am Ravi Dass and not Kabir).
The historical and social environment into which Mirabai, Kabir and Ravi Dass lived was one of strife and discontent due to the Muslim invasions. It was this fact which turned the Hindu populace more towards their religion. The south geographically remained relatively untouched and from there the new religious impetus sprang forth. From the 13th century onwards a strong revival of Bhakti Yoga began to gather strength in North India -- emphasis on personal devotion and love rather than reason or good deeds. One important work was Bhagavata Purana and one saint -- Ramanuja. Religion became mass-oriented. Its influence permeated all strata of society. In the North, Ramananda and Vallabhacharya became its main proponents. Ramananda preached to all, without distinction of caste, creed or sex. Kabir was his most illustrious disciple. Surdas was the disciple of Vitthal (Vallabhacharya’s son) in the Ashta Chhap group of eight poets. One outcome of this new Bhakti movement was the development of regional poetic languages. The Saint-poets reveal little of their personal lives because of their self-abnegation, pridelessness, so it is difficult historically and geographically to learn much about them.
Mirabai it seems was blamed for her devotion and attempts were made to kill her, failing nonetheless, by poison, etc. She was born in Merta, Rajasthan in A.D. 1498 and dies in Dwarka in 1546 at the age of 48 years. She was married to Prince Bhaj Raj in 1516 at eighteen years. She was raised by her grandparents – devout worshippers of Vishnu.
The legend of Mirabai’s guru is that during her childhood she was given an idol of Krishna by a mendicant. She became deeply attached to it and probably her religious fervor grew stronger and stronger. She also kept this idol of Krishna with her during the marriage ceremony and later took it to Chitor (husband’s palace) and refused to worship her husband’s patron goddess Kali, much to the annoyance of her husband’s family. Her husband died when she was twenty-three and thereafter she lived the life of a widow. She then accepted Krishna as her divine lover and husband. ‘I took to keeping hermit’s company, lost conventional modesty’. Once a poisonous snake hidden in a flower basket was sent to her. It turned into a Saligram stone upon opening. Another time a cup of poison was sent to her, she drank it without the fatal results. She came to Vrindavan to escape persecution.
Mirabai has mentioned in one of her songs the name of Raidas as her Guru. (It is said Ravi Dass would have had to be well over 100 years of age). ‘Sorrow is one’s portion if you love a Yogi, I tell you friend, there is no joy in loving. A Yogi is no one’s friend.’
Ravi Dassji and Gorakhnath
One day in Agra at Ravi Dass’ home he was engrossed in Krishna consciousness and his work. Guru Yogi Gorakhnath came by for a visit having heard of his glories and devotion to God. Gorakhnath asked Ravi Dass for some water and Ravi Dass taking water from the same pot used for his working with leather offered it to Gorakhnath. He refused the water throwing it aside because he was very particular about what he ate and drank. Ravi Dass humbly apologized and sent for a Brahmin to fetch and offer new water. Ravi Dass excused his discrepancy, Gorakhnath drank and departed.
Later in Multan, a devout housewife upon hearing that Gorakhnath was in her town beseeched her husband to invite Gorakhnath for dinner and prasad at their home. The husband knowing that the condition imposed for his accepting a dinner invitation was the householder must fill up his water pot. No one is able to do this feat even if he put the water pot under a waterfall or in a torrent of rain. She however convinced her husband and he went to see Gorakhnath. Upon hearing the husband’s request all his devotees and disciples laughed at this impossibility, however, Gorakhnath agreed and gave the water pot disbelievingly. The wife then put in two ounces of water in the pot and it was full much to the astonishment of all. Gorakhnath came and ate at the house and gave the couple his blessings. He asked how it was that she could fill the pot, a mere housewife and he a great siddha. She then asked if he remembered once when he was at Ravi Dass’s house and threw away the water offered by him as unclean. She said – well, one drop of it, as I was present there fell on my head and so I was blessed. Gorakhnath immediately materialized in Ravi Dass’ home near Agra and asked for the water from his cobbler’s pot and Ravi Dass replied – I’m sorry but I have just sent it all to Multan’.
December 1, 1971 Dr. Bankey Behari Story
Maharaji says Ravi Dass gave away all his possessions and never had any money. He disliked gold (money). He always made sure everyone else was served before he took his food. He lived in a hut and had a family.
There exists a painting 500 years old depicting Ravi Dass and Mirabai together whose original is in Benares at Vyamkentesh Bhattacharya’s place at Kabir Chaura. Every 500 years the Bhakti movement resurges with reincarnations of past high beings. Ravi Dass was a disciple of Ramananda so he must have been born in Benares. One legend is that he was a Brahmin and a disciple of Ramananda, he brought water to Ramananda from a low-caste shoemaker and so outraged his Guru that he said he would be born again as a cobbler and Ravi Dass said ‘so be it’ and let me take rebirth right away so I can be with Ramananda again.
One day Krishna came and because of Ravi Dass financial problems offered him the philosopher’s stone to turn anything into gold. Ravi Dass, absorbed in ecstasy paid no attention, so Krishna said, anyway I’ll leave it with you to do as you please, he went away and came back three months later and asked Bhakta Ravi Dass where the stone was as it was obvious it had remained unused – so true because Ravi Dass replied – it must be where you left it because I did not use it.’
One devotee of Ravi Dass said he was going to Hardwar to have darshan of Mata Ganga and is there anything he could do for Ravi Dass. Ravi Dass reached into his water pot and pulled out a one paise coin and said please offer this to the river Ganges. When the devotee reached Hardwar he offered up the paise and a gold and pearl and jewel ornamented hand rose out of the river to accept Ravi Dass offering. It went back and re-emerged bearing a gold and jewel bangle which was it said for Bhakta Ravi Dass. The devotee took it and on return voyage thought why to give it to Ravi Dass, he’ll keep it himself. Ravi Dass would never know anything of the gift. He was not a Yogi with powers. On reaching Ravi Dass’ house the devotee was asked if anything strange happened and replied negatively. He offered the one paise coin, that’s all. Ravi Dass then reaching into his water pot pulled out the very same bangle which Ganges had given to him. The disciple was awe-struck and pranamed.
Note: There is the samadhi of Sri Ravi Dass just opposite the temple of Mirabai in Chitor.
I have a note also from before that Ravi Dass resembled Jacob Boehme, the cobbler, mystic of the West.
(Ram Dass thought I was irreversibly crazy by now as he saw me on the Kainchi ashram road walking back and forth almost naked and giving away my money (his money) and he was an ex-Harvard professor. That’s why I attempted and succeeded later on to get into IBM to show him how wrong he was; how powerful I was, and how strong his words are he should not use them lightly.)
Once during the Kainchi segment, a beautiful woman came from the East coast and he gave her a name. She was young, although married, and very sexy like Radha and we immediately fell in love (and sex at the Evelyn Hotel) even though the unwritten rules in India forbid such trysts. Some of the satsang knew about it but the all-knowing Maharaji never said anything, at least not then. She eventually left India and I never saw her again although people mention her once every few years. I never went that far with anyone ever in India again.
Towards the end of the year we ended up in Allahabad at Dada Mukerjee’s house, who was such a sweet man and very close to Maharaji. I began to feel that my time is up again and I should head back to America, I like everyone else assumed Maharaji would be around for many more years. I was just not the type to keep staring at him all day long; I must have some other things to do in the states (obviously). But I didn’t have any money so he turned and asked Hari Nam Dass to take me to Delhi and put me on a plane to New York which we all did. This was when the second wave of satsang came to India who I didn’t meet till they came back in 1974. This time I didn’t cut my hair or beard.
Seriously.
In this half of the world before I was 21 and left for India I had already grown up with Stokely Carmichael, the founder of SNCC and author of 'Black Power' in the Bronx in junior high. (If you don't know him or that phrase, stop reading, you are an idiot. This blog is not for you.) When I was in college, Allen Ginsberg (my mentor) and the Beat and hippie generation poets, artists and filmmakers in Greenwich Village were all my compatriots. I went from Tangier poets to Athens poetry magazine, Residu, living with Dan Richter, the ape star of Kubrick's 2001. It was here I met Michael Riggs who became Bhagavan Das and took him to India. He eventually took Dr. Richard Alpert (now Baba Ram Dass, author of the game-changing Be Here Now) to his great guru Maharaji.
In the other half of the world, where I ended up later I first met Raihana Tyabji, a sufi saint and Gandhi disciple in New Delhi, who steered me many times in India to gurus and saints. I then landed with Maharishi Mahesh Yogi in Rishikesh on the Ganges in the Himalayan foothils, where I lived for three months studying and being initiated in TM. I was also initiated as a monk by him. The Beatles came after. I was his first western disciple. I then met Ananda Mayi Ma who gave me her blessings in Benares. Then, I went to Kathmandu where I was housed by the King Mahendra and took to the sadhu home of the deceased Shivapuri Baba, (read The Long Pilgrimage by JG Bennett). His disciples fed and took care of me for months. I ended living and meditating in his stone cottage on top of the tallest peak in the Kathmandu Valley with nightly tigers. Outside, the Brahmaputra River came out of a rock wall. I was with the Baba in everything but physical form. He died at 134. I was 22.
I came back to USA in 1966 and worked at the biggest ad agencies in New York, until the call of India beckoned again in 1969 and off to Raihana. She sent me to Swami Muktananda near Bombay, of Eat, Pray, Love fame where I was a monk for two years. I then escaped and found Maharaji in the Himalayas with the help of Ram Dass.
So just those 10 years were so remarkable I doubt anyone ever went through anything like that. Why was the universe so nice to me? Do I owe it anything? I know there are so many karmic reasons we all can think of and more to come.
