Cartwheels in a Sari (9 page)

Umed, a male disciple, carried Guru's portable chair, blanket, area rug, and tray. As always, Umed was prepared to set up a mini-shrine wherever Guru went. Vanita, who, along with her sisters, Sarisha and Upala, owned an Indian vegetarian restaurant in Guru's neighborhood, stood by armed with multiple thermoses filled with juice, water, ginger ale, and teas for Guru as well as bags with snacks, just in case Guru was hungry or thirsty. No matter the location, from meditations at the church to gas stations, one of the three women was permanently on call with sacred snacks and beverages for Guru. With these standard procedures, any area—public or private—was transformed within minutes into a meditation hall. Disciples always cleared a respectful circle around Guru, never daring to come too close, and always careful to leave the best area for Guru to occupy, as they stood gazing lovingly with folded hands, positioning themselves to have a clear view of Guru and for Guru to have an even clearer view of them. This was not always easy, since the standard seating chart seemed to apply no matter where we went. Guru's strict seating order remained and if a disciple simply forgot, there were others to remind the person by standing or sitting directly in front of them. A first-row seat in the church meant a first-row seat, or area to stand, anywhere.

The waitresses’ mouths sagged in surprise at our arrival. I
was used to it. We created a scene wherever we went. At the Pan Am terminal in Kennedy Airport, before a trip back to India, Guru held a meditation followed by prasad at the departure area gate. Having three hundred people converge with folded hands in such a small area had alarmed airport security. My father had to use all of his negotiating skills to talk down airport officials from calling in SWAT teams, assuring them that we were not staging a threat but were merely waving good-bye to our church leader. Gawks, whispers, hoots, leers, and having the authorities question us were everyday occurrences.

“It's those Moonies,” a truck driver in a red and black plaid jacket announced with authority. “They sell crap in airports.”

The waitress nodded and told the short-order cook she was going to need some backup.

I turned to the man and, with my hand on my hip, I sighed extra loud and rolled my eyes in deliberate exaggeration, to let him know how absurdly ignorant he was. Even if I was having a crisis in faith, I wasn't going to let a man with bacon caught in his beard insult my guru. Though we were frequently mislabled Moonies, Hare Krishnas, and the Kool-Aid group of Jim Jones, we found it a personal affront, swearing that those oddballs had nothing in common with us; we were a “spiritual path,” and those others, according to Guru, were just crazy cults.

“Oi, Jayanti.” Guru nodded toward me.

He sat upon the HoJo orange stool, leaning both elbows on the counter in a pose that seemed far too casual for an avatar. I hesitantly approached him with folded hands. There was no doubt that Guru's occult powers had sensed my fears.

“Yes, Guru,” I answered sheepishly, pressing my hands upon my heart.

“Jayanti,” Guru said through closed eyes, in a low voice.

Beloved Guru I love you and nobody else. Beloved Guru I love you and nobody else….
I tried all of my devotions to repair the inner damage I might have caused myself. Trembling, I braced myself and leaned to gather up his disappointment.

“I have a very important job for you,” Guru said.

My stomach collapsed. I felt sick. Was I supposed to kill Alo? As the Chosen One, of course, I was the obvious candidate, and why shouldn't I be? Guru selected my soul in order to serve him and him alone. His mission was my only purpose. Besides, I had just passed the deadline of God-Realization by age eleven, and both Guru and I knew that I was not even close to it. Here was a way to expedite my progress and solidify my seat at his divine feet, and I was doubting Guru. No matter what Guru asked, now or in the future, I needed to carry it out, swiftly and obediently. I needed to be a divine soldier—fearless.

“Yes, Guru,” I vowed, steadying myself for my order.

“Buy hot chocolate for everyone. You need to count. Bus people. Car people. All. You get special hot chocolate prasad,” Guru said, handing me a crisp hundred-dollar bill.

I must have looked stunned.

“Oi. All right?”

I was confused and needed clarification.

“When you were talking about Alo, earlier, in the bus …”

“Good girl, my sweet Jayanti. Of course your guru meant inwardly. All inwardly, Jayanti, divine.” Guru smiled lovingly, adjusting his voice with a slight cough.

Though I was still shaking, I bowed, feeling relieved for his words and shame for ever doubting him.

Setting off on my task, my brain couldn't hold the numbers together, nothing followed, nothing stuck. After my third attempt at a recount, I asked Vanita if I could borrow a pen and paper.

Later, when the order was complete, and I was handing each Styrofoam cup to Guru so he could offer it to the freezing and overjoyed disciples who beamed at the opportunity to approach him, delighting in the fact that he was noticing, one by one, who had made the journey with him and who had not, I saw firsthand the rapture on everyone's faces. I still felt queasy. A massive circle packed tightly around Guru and me. Hundreds of eyes gazed toward him, craving even the slightest return glance. The disciples’ distance from where I stood next to Guru seemed endless. Although I was closest to him, I felt the farthest away.

Guru's fingers accidentally brushed mine with the presentation of each cup like a formal ceremony from an ancient king's court. My position beside Guru was where his disciples, young and old, male and female, all desired to be. I knew this because they told me, constantly, scribbled on birthday cards, confessed through stalls in the bathroom, murmured through faraway stares.

“I wish I were you.”

“How did you ever get to be so blessed?”

“You are the luckiest person in the whole world.”

Their loving adoration felt both flattering and baffling. I could not take any credit for it. I had not achieved anything. None of this was my doing at all, but I did not remind them of that; I smiled and blushed, my cheeks always giving away
my secret discomfort by flaring pink. The disciples’ imaginings of my blessed existence did not include the garish reality of my flawed and crooked self—a fake who did not know how to meditate, who was not anywhere near God-Realization and was bothered less and less by that pressing matter, and, worst of all, who at times dangerously doubted Guru. Of course Guru was not asking for someone to really kill Alo. Guru wasn't at fault—I was, for misunderstanding his wisdom. Tears soaked my eyes. I saw the streak of a camera's flash preserving yet another blessingful moment of me with Guru. I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand, and inwardly begged forgiveness for being so undeserving to be the luckiest person in the whole world.

To show his infinite compassion, Guru called the disciples who were not invited on his bus to receive prasad first. An excited push came from the crowd that wove into a single-file line. There were always many, many disciples who were not included in special groups and gatherings. From new disciples who had recently joined to disciples who had been in the Center for years, there was a mass—many who appeared nameless and faceless—simply filling in the empty seats at the back of the hall and driving their cars throughout the night in the hopes of being seen by the Master. Among that group was Chahna's family.

A hardworking couple from Bayonne, New Jersey, Chahna's parents came to the Center soon after she was born. Chahna was five years younger than me, and as far as Center rankings went, her family was definitely not invited on Guru's bus. With an eccentric father who inserted wacky jokes into every conversation and a mother who collected
Star Trek
memorabilia, Chahna's family seemed happier to be toting along at
their pace in their own vehicle. Chahna smiled, her round face flecked with freckles lighting up, when she saw me looking toward the back of the line. She waved, her two long dark braids tossing wildly, and then got embarrassed for doing so on such a soulful occasion. In her ugly yellow hat with a pompom on top and her brown corduroy coat misbuttoned, Chahna was my own special friend. The first time I spotted Chahna, she shyly hid behind her mother's legs as her mother tried to walk her up to the stage with the rest of the child disciples; I loved her instantly. I had grabbed her hand and told her to come with me. In that moment, Chahna dropped her mother's grip, blinked up at me with grateful relief, and accompanied me to Guru. I knew then that I had gained a permanent and loyal sister.

As others watched me standing next to Guru, and as Guru extended his hand toward me, awaiting the cups I'd place in the grip of his delicate hand, I knew everyone longed to be in my position next to Guru. Chahna, I knew, just longed to be my friend, for me, and for me alone. Having friends was always difficult. Guru banned any friendships with people outside the Center, and friendships in the Center were complicated. Guru often created my friendships, advising me to stay away from certain disciples because they were undivine and steering me toward others because he said they were spiritually worthy. It always felt strange to hear Guru veer me away from certain disciples and nudge me closer to others. A few times, he reversed his pairing and had me befriend someone who originally had been on the banned list. Though I found it confusing and secretive, I obeyed, knowing that it pleased Guru. To him, controlling friendships was an important way to monitor another aspect of his disciple's lives. However
, Chahna was a friendship I created on my own. She was mine, and Guru remained silent, never officially sanctioning or denying our relationship.

Seeing Chahna approach Guru for prasad, for the first time in what seemed like years I smiled. She stood before Guru, her serious gray eyes blinking rapidly, and though Guru did not even smile or pause, let alone say a word to her, when he handed her the cup, her entire face beamed with joy as if she had been given a magical gift. She bowed low, and nearly skipped her way to the back, vanishing among the crowds.

THAT SUMMER GURU
gave me a job. With long hours and no pay, I was the envy of all the disciples. Daily, my mother would drive me to Guru's house in the early morning. I quietly waited by the side door that led directly to Guru's basement, the site of the Madal Zoo. No one was allowed to ring the bell or knock. The policy was to wait patiently until someone on the inside noticed you and allowed you to enter.

Though Guru generally enforced a no-pet rule for his disciples, he began buying pets for himself. His disciples, through their strong oneness with him, could then share the joys of having pets without the burdens of emotional attachment. It started with Sona, a white Maltese puppy, and rapidly expanded. After Sona came a large parrot, followed by a pair of monkeys. Soon the word was out that Guru sought new and exotic pets. Like all of Guru's sudden interests, this became the disciples’ sudden interest, too, and disciples from Guru's ever-expanding meditation groups, which had spread to South America, Australia, eastern and western Europe,
Asia, and even Africa, rushed to provide Guru with unusual and spiritual pets.

Many of the disciples took the opportunity to bring these offerings with them when they came to New York. Because these animals were for Guru, and anything done for Guru was really done for the Supreme, meant that it not only had the highest priority but also was exempt from any mundane and low-consciousness rule and regulation set by the government. As soon as disciples declared they were on a project for Guru, they felt entitled, even obligated, to get it done the quickest way—regardless of the consequences. Laws were merely man-made manifestations of ignorance that could impede Guru's mission and therefore were of no consequence. If Guru wanted exotic birds and animals—especially ones that reminded him of his Indian childhood—then disciples went to the black market to smuggle them. Of course, keeping exotic birds and animals in a private residence in New York City was illegal, but that certainly did not deter anyone. In fact, having to perform illegal actions for Guru made the disciples feel more devoted, more committed.

Soon new pets were arriving all the time, although some didn't make it. Gathered at Guru's house, we heard disciples’ stories of both successes and failures in attempts to expand the Madal Zoo. Aarpit, a Center leader from Australia, had driven days into the Australian outback and paid a toothless sun-scorched man hundreds of dollars for a rare cockatoo. Upon arriving at the airport to leave for New York, Aarpit crammed the bird inside an empty tennis ball container and hid it inside his zippered carry-on. Just as he was about to board the plane, his nylon bag began squawking incessantly.
Having to choose between getting barred from the plane and miss seeing Guru or keeping the bird, Aarpit ducked into the nearest men's room and, in a split-second decision, dumped the tennis ball can in the garbage. Other disciples admitted similar difficulties, and tips were shared, including how to sedate the animals for a guaranteed quiet flight. Often, after a long flight, the animals having been given the wrong doses of sedatives remained quiet, never to move or speak again.

Our family had our own exotic wildlife adventure. When Whiteitty, the wild cat that we tried to adopt, left us a stunned and shaken baby chipmunk, we nursed it back to health in a shoe box and then presented the chipmunk to Guru for his zoo. When we brought it to Guru's house, Prema vehemently shook her head in protest, and Guru decided that this chipmunk was best for our family to keep with his blessings. Even I, who still longed for a companion, realized that a chipmunk was a crappy pet, and we opened the box and let our rejected spiritual pet go.

To house all of the animals that were accepted into the zoo, Guru had the guards redesign and excavate his property. Deep beneath the basement, a series of rooms were dug to house the animals. Late at night, thick cement walls were erected to muffle the hoots, squawks, and chirps. This was a clandestine operation that eluded both the neighbors and Queens authorities. The success of this mission we attributed to Guru's inner powers rather than sophisticated engineering. Ownership of endangered birds and animals was illegal and highly unsanitary. Along with the drums of feed and sacks of seed came an influx of unwanted creatures, namely cockroaches and mice. The roaches, in particular, felt welcomed
into such a bounty of animal mess, and soon they marched their way from the chambers belowground into Guru's upper living quarters.