78. the life cycle
was before he became a monk—except perhaps city folks and college students. I
could be a svatantra monk and might even be the better for it, with no affiliations of
any sort, and no need to vindicate my thoughts and actions to any formal superior.
Among the svatantra monks, there are hundreds of excellent, learned people. There
are also thousands of rogues, but then there are also thousands of rogues among or-
dained and established monks. There is no uniform control in the Hindu monastic
realm; this may change—there is talk of some sort of identification paper for a per-
son donning the robe—but so far nothing of the kind has gained ground, and the
orthodox orders vehemently oppose any such movement as infringing upon their
basic freedom.
As I went to my rest house late at night to retire, I saw a small crowd of devotees
sitting on the steps of the Harischandra Ghat listening to a man with a pleasant,
high, and even voice. He spoke in chaste Hindi, and the people around him were lis-
tening in rapt attention. I drew closer and saw a feeble, friendly old man in the ochre
ofdafanamis. He was discussing maya. It is mayathat cannot be described; the
Supreme is defined and described—it is being, consciousness, and bliss. We should
rest on what we know, and not on what we do not know. He chanted some passages
in support; his voice was thin but not shaky; and there was a lilt in it, as there was a
very slight smile on his face. It was a moonlit night, and I could see his face quite
well. When the men around him dispersed after the discourse, I remained where I
was. He had noticed me earlier and now he said, “So you have come to join the fold.”
He did not mean this in any esoteric sense; nor was it a statement of clairvoyance.
He saw me in the novice ’s clothes, he saw I was not from Banaras, and he saw me
listening to his discourse. He was old and experienced, and he must have seen many
who wanted to “join the fold.” I told him my problems and recounted in detail my
experiences of the last two days, for he seemed to be interested. At the end of my
narrative, I added, “Of course I know by now that you will not make me a sannyasi;
that is why I am off to Hardvar to take it from any monk who will offer it to me, re-
gardless of his own standing and his knowledge.”
The old monk held up his hand, gesturing me to silence. I fell quiet immediately,
for I saw he was thinking hard. This was a strange experience and a novel one to
me—novel as a Hindu monk’s reaction to a problem. There was nothing sanctimo-
nious in his face, nothing of the “I know of course” mien so common on the faces
of the sannyasis who are asked a question. This was the face of a scholar pondering
a difficult problem, or of a defense counsel in court. He was fingering his rosary; I
do not know how long we sat in silence. After a long time he said, “I shall give you
a trial, brahmacari[student, the first of the four stages of life]. If it proves a failure,