2003: Making Yogananda’s Teachings Known in India

From his arrival in India at age 77 in 2003 with the goal of making his Master’s work better known there, Swamiji’s talks and TV programs attracted thousands.

Just in time for the New Year, Swamiji’s persistent cough became full-blown pneumonia. One of his publishers in India had arranged a lecture tour for him in January, but now it was out of the question. He had also planned a vacation in Goa afterward. Perhaps he would recover in time for that.

“Swamiji’s energy comes and goes,” Lakshman Heubert, his secretary, wrote. “It comes when he starts writing.” He was still working on God Is for Everyone. “The latest chapter is deep, interesting, clear, and extremely moving,” Lakshman said. “That Swamiji is able to write at all, what to speak of writing so beautifully, given his overall fatigue, would be incredible—in the literal sense of the word—if we didn’t have these teachings to explain it. The energy flowing through him comes from a source other than his body.”

Swamiji responded well to antibiotics for the pneumonia, and by January 5, Master’s birthday, he was able to give the Sunday service. “I’m a little short of breath,” he said, “but I’m not short of spirit!” He based his talk on a chapter he had just finished writing.

People make decisions in the present, he said, that will have unfortunate consequences in the future; but they aren’t concerned, because they think of the future as some far away, imaginary event. They don’t realize that when the future arrives it will be today. And whether that today is filled with happiness or suffering depends on how they have lived all the todays that came before.

Swamiji talked about the Buddha. His first sermon, they say, was the sight of him walking down the road. His disciples were converted by the consciousness they felt from him before he spoke a word. Many people in the room thought, “Swamiji is describing himself.” His words were eloquent, but only incidental to the experience of being with him. When he talked about the joy of living for God, it radiated from his eyes, and they felt it in their hearts. His physical weakness seemed to accentuate his spiritual power. Just like the Buddha, Swamiji’s life was his sermon.

He was well enough by the end of January to take the trip to Goa. He tried to finish God Is for Everyone before leaving, but when it proved impossible, he put it aside completely and went on vacation without his computer. It was time for a break.

He was traveling with a group of friends, and being in India, conversation naturally went to Master’s work there—or the lack of it. Most people in India knew Master only through Autobiography of a Yogi. As a result, Swamiji said, they see him as he presents himself in that book: a humble devotee seeking God.

Ironically, SRF and YSS reinforce that misunderstanding, by making the organization almost as important as the Guru. Indians know their vast spiritual tradition transcends all organizations. They don’t respect Master because no great master would be so sectarian. Anthologies about India’s modern saints rarely even mention him.

Swamiji was back in Assisi for Master’s Mahasamadhi in March. Someone asked a question that he himself had struggled to resolve. “How can disciples of Master behave as the SRF leaders have done?”

“We have many compartments in our subconscious mind,” Swamiji said. “For a great disciple to manifest great faults only means that one or two compartments are not yet free. A limitation in one area, though, doesn’t diminish the spiritual greatness we see in other aspects of their character.”

Swamiji himself had had a brief crisis of faith on this very point. Thinking of the SRF leaders, he wondered how a person could practice these teachings for most of a lifetime, and still behave as they did. Was Master a true Guru? Was this a true path? For a few dark hours, he pondered these questions, until he had a simple realization: “I don’t know what this path has done, or failed to do for anyone else—that is between them and God. I do know what it has done for me.”

Later he said, “Master’s power as a Guru is proven, not by the limitations of the many, but by the perfection of a few—like Rajarshi and Gyanamata. ‘To all who received him, to them gave he the power to become the sons of God.’”

At the end of April, Swamiji came to America, stopping first in Holland to visit a famous tulip garden. “I can’t imagine the astral world being more beautiful,” he said. He had finished God Is for Everyone, his health had improved; but after the long flight, he began to cough again. It was a nuisance, but he managed to carry on with his program at the Village and the colonies.

In June, we held the first Festival of the Joyful Arts, something Swamiji had proposed twenty-five years earlier. There were art galleries, musical performances, and a full production of The Peace Treaty. He hoped the festival would be an annual event, with the play as the cornerstone.

After his class on Saturday, Swamiji said, “I woke up with the feeling that Master had something important to say through me today. I was so full of enthusiasm I didn’t have the patience even to meditate with the group, as I usually do before talking. It was as short as I could make it and still call it a meditation.”

The message Master wanted us to hear was simple: Be yourself. God has a special song to sing through each person. Get in tune with Him, ask Him who He wants you to be. Then with courage, creativity, and attunement, follow that superconscious call.

Now that the lawsuit was over, we invited Jon Parsons, Rob Christopher, Richard Jones, their support staff, and all their families, to come to the Village for a Lawyers’ Appreciation Weekend—something no client had ever offered them before. We had been warriors together in a long, hard battle. Now it was time to celebrate.

Each of our lawyers spoke from his heart about the life-changing experience of working with Ananda. Most of our cases are ordinary, they said. This was not. We set legal precedents that already are saving other religious groups from similar persecution. When it was Jon’s turn, he invited his son to stand beside him. Brandon was a toddler when the SRF lawsuit began; now he was a head taller than his dad!

They were deeply moved to be at the Village, and to see the faces of all the devotees whose way of life had been saved through their service to our cause.

***

Swamiji’s most precious possession was the notebooks he had filled with Master’s words during the years he lived with his Guru. The Path and The Essence of Self-Realization were written from those notebooks. In August, back home in Assisi, he opened the notebooks again and began to write Conversations with Yogananda.

The energy level of The Path, Swamiji said, precluded the use of many interesting, but more informal, discussions. The Essence of Self-Realization was limited by topic. At first Swamiji thought he might again weave Master’s words into a narrative, or organize them by subject. Instead, he started at page one of the notebooks and wrote from beginning to end.

In late September, he took a break from writing to visit a devotee in Norway. Per, a psychologist, was opening a small spiritual healing center. A few colleagues supported him in his effort to bring a more enlightened approach to their profession; but Norway is a conservative country, and Per was virtually alone in his spiritual aspirations.

He had visited Assisi several times, and was deeply moved by meeting Swamiji. Out of gratitude and respect, he sent Swamiji an invitation to the opening. “I never expected he would actually come,” Per said.

“I am happy for the effort you are making,” Swamiji said. “I pray that it succeeds. But I didn’t come for the center. I came for you.”

In October, God Is for Everyone was published. At almost the same time, Swamiji finished writing Conversations. “I always work hard, but I drove myself almost to the breaking point on this one,” he said. “When the waves of inspiration come, you can’t just wait on the beach, you have to dive in.”

The song John Anderson, My Jo, which he had written a few years earlier, “came to me at the end of a long cycle of writing music. It was late at night, I had been working hard all day and was totally spent. I had just gotten into bed when the melody came to me. I wasn’t interested! I felt I had done enough! But it wouldn’t leave me alone, so after a few minutes, of course I got up and wrote it down.”

A fascinating example of how inspiration works was the contrast between two melodies written for the same poem, Canticle of the Creatures, by Saint Francis. Swamiji wrote a melody for the song he called Canticle. A popular folksinger, Donovan, also wrote one with the title Brother Sun, Sister Moon. Both songs start with the same melody line. “I sustained the inspiration to the last note,” Swamiji said. “Donovan wasn’t able to. His song starts well, then simply peters out. Many people receive inspired ideas, but then don’t put out the energy to maintain that level of inspiration to the end.”

Swamiji had driven himself so hard writing Conversations that he wasn’t sure he could recover. “I’ve nothing more to say in music, and now I’ve used everything I wrote down when I was with Master. I think my work is finished.”

In a phone call to me he said, “Last night, I felt the life force slipping away. Nothing was holding me; I could have gone so easily.”

“You have already done the work of ten lifetimes,” I said, “and have given so much to so many. It would be selfish of us to ask you to stay.” I paused. “But it won’t be any fun to be on this planet without you.”

Very softly Swamiji replied, “I know, I’ve been through it.” He always speaks of the living presence of Master, so we tend to forget that he was not quite twenty-six, and had barely begun his life of discipleship, when, suddenly, Master was gone.

***

Just as he was doing the last editing of Conversations, Swamiji received an email from an American couple he had never met. They were long-time SRF members, who, some years ago, had moved to India to serve through YSS. Gradually, though, they had become disillusioned, and had now resigned. Over the next few days of email correspondence, and later when they met in person, every concern Swamiji had about Master’s work in India was confirmed.

 “When I went to India in 1996, I wondered if that was the time to start a work there. Then I got pneumonia and had to cut the trip short. I thought it was a sign from Master that a work in India wasn’t his will for me—not then, perhaps not ever. Now I’ve been reading the letters Master wrote from India to Rajarshi in 1935. He pleads with Rajarshi to help him secure the work there. It was obvious from the way Master wrote that India was very important to him.”

A Brighu reading from years earlier said that Swamiji would achieve not only moksha—spiritual liberation—in this lifetime, but also dharma moksha—freedom from the need to act, because all duties had been completed. His work in India was still unfinished, interrupted just when it was poised to succeed. Now, at the age of seventy-seven, Swamiji felt Master calling him to return to India, and finish what he’d started.

Swamiji phoned Jyotish, Devi, Durga, Vidura, David, and me, and asked us to come immediately to Assisi. “I feel Master calling me to India,” he said. “This is too important a decision for me to make alone. Please come, so we can decide together.”

When we arrived in Asissi on the train from Rome, Swamiji was waiting on the platform with Anand and Kirtani Stickney, Narya, Shivani, and a few others. Shivani’s husband, Arjuna, was in India, doing ground work for a pilgrimage they were planning.

We sat down for dinner in a nearby restaurant. Swamiji knew Master was calling him to India; putting the question to us was only to test his intuition. Just like when he had to answer questions in the deposition, he wanted to see if any of us could come up with an objection he hadn’t considered. By the time the pizza arrived, it was decided: Ananda would start a work in India and Swamiji would lead it.

“Where in India will you go?” Vidura asked.

“Delhi,” Swamiji said, surprised that he would even ask. For him this was not a new work; he was picking up where he had left off forty years ago.

Vidura immediately got practical. “Where will you stay?” Swamiji had a few friends in India, but we had no ashram, no real base to work from. Without waiting for an answer, Vidura said, “David and I will go and set something up for you.” By the time dessert came, they had tickets to India leaving the next day. Durga and I would join them soon. Jyotish and Devi would stay with Swamiji and come in a week or two—enough time, we hoped, for us to find somewhere for them to land.

David and Vidura met up with Arjuna. A day later, he called Shivani. They had found an ideal place in Gurgaon, just on the south edge of Delhi: many bedrooms, large living room, beautiful roof terrace, a basement that could be turned into a temple, and a separate living area for Swamiji on the top floor.

I was sitting next to Swamiji when the news came. While everyone else exclaimed happily about our good fortune, Swamiji remained silent and grave, thinking about the magnitude of the challenge that lay before him. He leaned toward me, and in a serious voice, so quiet it was almost a whisper, repeated Sri Yukteswar’s words to Master about going to America: “All doors are open. It is now or never.”

Swamiji called Dharmadas and Nirmala Schuppe at Ananda Village. “I feel Master is calling me to start a work in India. Would you come and head up the work with me?” They had helped launch several other Ananda communities, including Assisi, Italy, but had never been to India, not even on pilgrimage. Without a moment’s hesitation they said, “Yes.”

Nirmala, a talented artist and musician, had been for many years one of Swamiji’s chief collaborators on creative projects. About Dharmadas, Swamiji said, “I’d had my eye on him for a long time. I was impressed. I hadn’t thought of him for this, but when I asked Divine Mother, Dharmadas was Her choice.”

He called Padma McGilloway, now the colony leader in Seattle; but before that, she had been in charge of Crystal Clarity, and still managed foreign rights—all books published outside the United States. As soon as possible, Swamiji wanted Indian editions of God Is for Everyone and Conversations with Yogananda. Could she come immediately to help? Padma said, “Of course.”

Swamiji wrote a brochure, announcing the start of Ananda’s work in India. He called it A Life Dream Fulfilled? The cover was the painting he did in 1961 that convinced Nehru to give him land in Delhi. The inside pictures were also from that time.

Many years ago, Swamiji had stopped wearing Indian clothes in Europe and America. “It gives the wrong impression—that you have to be Indian to be part of Ananda.” His western style clothes were mostly blue. He wore orange only for ceremonial occasions—a ministerial robe, the same, except for the color, as all the Lightbearers wore. But he still had many of the clothes he had worn years before when he lived in India. From the corner of his closet, he took a small pile of orange kurtas, pants, dhotis, and shawls—much worn, and now faded. He handed them to me with a lump of gerua clay, which is what they use in India to dye clothes that particular shade of orange.

Swamiji’s house was at the end of a long private driveway. Narya and Laura Tossetto lived on the main road where the driveway started. They had a spacious laundry room, so Laura, Cecilia Sharma, and I took on the job of re-dying his clothes. I had just finished hanging the wet garments on the clothesline, when I saw Swamiji coming up the driveway, out for a walk with a few friends. Seeing the rich gerua color of the clothes blowing in the breeze, he declared joyously, “Now I feel I am going to India!”

A few days later, though, he was downcast. “Satan has been trying to persuade me not to do this,” he said. In Autobiography of a Yogi, Master tells the story of staying up all night working. When it was time to go to bed, Satan tried to persuade him to go to sleep without meditating. “Poor boy, you’ve worked so hard, you need your rest.” Swamiji said that Satan was now using the same logic on him. “‘You are an old man. You’ve worked so hard all your life. Now is the time for a quiet retirement.’

“Even when I was a young man, India was a hard place to live. Now the climate could easily kill me. I’m not even slightly worried about my own survival; only my ability to succeed, at this late stage of my life, and in my state of health.

“In our souls, we are all as old as God. Age in itself is a trivial consideration. For this body, though, age is like a heavy backpack I have to carry with me wherever I go. But I am willing. I have worked hard all my life. Why not finish in the same way?”

Swamiji arrived in India at the end of November. The tapasya began right away. The first night, he tried to move a heavy suitcase and strained a muscle in his arm. For a few days he had to eat with his left hand. Then he fell down in the middle of the night, cut his elbow, and bruised his face.

We were in negotiation for the house we wanted to rent, but in the meantime lived in a nearby guesthouse. There were ten of us. We took over the whole downstairs as our private dining and living room.

A few of Swamiji’s old friends came to visit. Padma brought some publishers who loved his books, but had never met Swamiji in person. He went out often, exploring the neighborhood, visiting the shopping malls that were springing up everywhere in Gurgaon, getting a feel for the spirit of India now.

He was very concerned about whether the Indians would like his music. “The music is what holds Ananda together,” he said. “It is very different from what they are used to. I hope they can tune into it.” Decades before, Swamiji said, you didn’t hear western style music anywhere; now, it was played in all the malls. “Dreadful music,” he said, “but at least now they are hearing chords, which is not part of their tradition.”

There were enough of us to make a small choir, so when guests came, Swamiji had us sing Brothers, Go On Alone, and a few others from the heart of the repertoire. The Indians loved the music, both words and melodies. Swamiji was delighted. “If they like the music, they will like A Festival of Light, and everything else we have. I would like to keep things uniform all around the world.”

About the Festival, though, he said, “Not yet.” Rituals are the old spirituality of India; Master brought a new message. First he wanted us to establish our own vibration. Then, when we added ritual, they would understand it in a new context.

Swami Kriyananda with the President of India, Abdul Kalam. L-R: D. R. Kaarthikeyan (former Director of the Indian Central Bureau of Investigation, the Indian equivalent of the FBI, and a close friend of Swamiji), Nayaswami Nirmala, President Kalam, Swamiji, Nayaswami Dharmadas

When we were just a few years into the SRF lawsuit, before any of the major decisions had come down in our favor, the legal team was having lunch one day with Swamiji and Jon. “In America,” Swamiji said, “church is the right word. In most of Europe, though, church means the Catholic Church. There is no tradition there of starting churches, the way we do in America. The very idea is incomprehensible to them. In India, the word church won’t do at all. Maybe we should call ourselves Ananda Sangha. Sangha is the Sanskrit word for fellowship, so we would be faithful to Master’s ideal, with a name that would work everywhere in the world.”

Jon had been a lawyer for a long time and had learned not to respond impulsively. So for a moment he sat in thoughtful silence, reflecting on how much time, money, and energy had already gone into winning the right to call ourselves Church of Self-Realization. Finally he said, “Why don’t we win the lawsuit first, then we can change the name.” Everyone laughed, and agreed that was the best plan.

Now, in India, the name would be Ananda Sangha.

From the time he finished editing Conversations, to when he greeted the first guests, to talk about moving to India, Swamiji had had a break of one hour. Even for him, it wasn’t much. Now, since the house wouldn’t be ready for a few more weeks, he decided to go with Jyotish, Devi, Dharmadas, and Nirmala for a vacation in Kerala.

Vidura, Durga, David, and I had been working every day to secure and then furnish the house: four stories, entirely empty. Others would soon be arriving from Europe and America to be the permanent India crew. The night before Swamiji left for Kerala, I stayed up all night with Dharmadas, Durga, and Lakshman, who had recently arrived, getting Conversations ready for the printer. God Is for Everyone had already been submitted. We finished fifteen minutes before Dharmadas had to leave for the airport. A few hours later, the four of us flew back to California.

***

Over the years, Swamiji had tried in many different ways to launch Ananda as a movement rather than an organization. In India, this was especially important. Early one morning during his vacation in Kerala, the inspiration came of how to present Ananda in just the right way.

“The ideas were so powerful, and came with such force, that they woke me up at 3:00 a.m.,” he said. “I had to get up immediately and begin writing.” The Way of Ananda Sanghis began with what he called the Prayer of Ananda Sanghis: May the Divine Light awaken and purify my heart, and bring enlightenment to all beings. Then, in a few points, he defined the essence of our path:

We believe in a single, blissful, eternal consciousness, Satchidanandam, which pervades the entire universe, unifying it and all creatures in a bond of mutual service.

“We believe that man’s highest duty is to realize himself as an expression of all-pervading Satchidanandam.

We honor all, whether friends or self-named foes, as manifestations of the eternal Satchidanandam.

“We embrace the need to offer up every ego-attachment and self-limiting identity in daily acts of service to others.

“We aspire to make our own lives works of art. . .expressing the bliss that is latent in our deeper selves.

“We seek to make our every thought and action a radiation outward from the center of our being, and not allow ourselves to become superficial reflections of the thoughts and actions of others.

“We seek never to convert anyone to our specific cause except, in love, to inspire all with the desire to reclaim the bliss of their own being.

“We seek fellowship with others willing to join hands with us in this loving labor for universal upliftment.

“We recognize that all human beings, whether ignorantly or wisely, seek the bliss of their own being; we embrace all as fellow seekers of Ultimate Bliss.

“We recognize that the way of Ananda Sangha…leads one by the universal pathway of the spine to the high state of communion with God. . . We follow this path by the daily practice of Kriya YogaKriyabans revere the saints of all religions, but give special reverence and obedience to the line of Gurus on whose lives and teachings we pattern our own lives.”

Then came a section called Renunciation. All those who were without family obligations, who seek to live for God alone, he urged to consider the path of formal renunciation. Master had predicted, “Someday, lion-like swamis will come from India and aid in spreading this message all over.” Swamiji said, “I’ve given years to developing householders; now is the time for the renunciates.”

 

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