The author talks about her visit to Deboria Baba during her stay in Vrindavan

We boarded a boat to reach the other bank. At this ghat, there was a priest, ready with some turmeric paste in hand. Just before he could apply it on my forehead, Lekharu said to me, “Go ahead and board the boat.”

It is not customary to apply a tilak on a widow. The kind lady was always alert to save me from such embarrassing situations so that my sentiments would not be hurt.

Soon we sailed far into the river. The chiming of the bells from the temples could no longer be heard. The only sound that could be heard was of the oars stroking the water. The turtles basking in the sun on the banks could be seen crawling back into the water.

The improvised platform of Deboria Baba, which was only dimly visible from the other bank, now grew quite distinct. Beneath it, there was a big concourse of his admirers. His attendants were collecting the offerings of fruits and sweets presented to him by the gathering. We also hurried to join the crowd and squatted there on the stand. He was sitting in a dark hovel on the platform.

Some devotees shouted: “Hail Deboria Baba! Hail Deboria Baba!” One person sitting beside me began to sob.

I asked him the reason for his grief, but got no reply. We did not have to wait long for the Baba. He came out sooner than we expected. He had not a strip of cloth on his body and was carrying a piece of deerskin in his hand. It was his practice to remain naked always, be it in the extreme cold of December or in the extreme heat of May. He practised a kind of meditation, standing waist deep in the river. While he meditated thus, two boats on either side of him would keep vigil.

Deboria Baba had a tall and stout physique. He wore a large mass of matted hair and a bushy beard, both covered with a large coat of, what appeared to me, slime or ash — I could not be sure.

It was difficult to determine his age from his appearance. There was no end to speculation in Vrindavan about his age. He was a pupil of Swami Ramanujacharya of Kanchipuram.

Former President (late) Rajendra Prasad is said to have walked a long distance for Baba’s darshan. A record left by the President says the Baba was 150 years old at the time of his visit. A foreign devotee had determined his age to be 300 years, on the basis of laboratory tests of his hair and nail.

Not just Rajendra Prasad, most of the distinguished politicians of India, elderly prostitutes of Vraj, young widows and Radheyshyamis have knelt before Baba in supplication. His disciples in Vraj proclaimed in one voice that the saint was over 500 years old and that he was the only enunciator of Patanjali’s Yoga Sutra alive till then.

I felt a strange palpitation in my heart in the presence of the holy man. I believed that the face is the index of a man’s innermost thoughts. I was afraid that the Baba would point his accusing finger at me from his elevated dais and declare: “That girl is intent on suicide. You will discover poisonous pills in her handbag.”

I huddled myself close to my teacher to escape the notice of the holy man.

One after another, the devotees went up to him and began to narrate their woes and agonies. The holy man pointed his finger to the sky and said: “Have faith in him who is in heaven. He will show you the way. My blessings will be with you.” Then, he threw a handful of wild berries at them. They all vied with each other to grab them.

My teacher had for long directed his gaze at the holy man’s rostrum, as if lost in meditation. I had the feeling then that it would just not be possible for me to be a close disciple of the holy man and live on the rostrum or in water. But the thought was redundant, for he didn’t give initiation to a woman as his disciple.

As the crowd thinned, I said to my teacher in all politeness, “It’s time for us to leave, Sir. Don’t worry, I will come and meet him again, Sir!”

Now I am feeling too delicate to go near him, Sir... A strange thought came to me! Is this the sage my mother saw in the dream and consoled?

He nodded his approval. Then, the three of us bowed on the sand, in obeisance to the holy man. After that, we started walking back home along the bank of the Yamuna. My heart was smarting in deep regret for I did not ask the holy man a single thing about my future. It was not his custom to descend to the devotees, nor was it possible for me to say aloud the woes of my heart. The one question that was constantly troubling my mind was: “Shall I really find a way out after all? Would my constant remembering of Madhu, which causes anguish in my heart, ultimately become a mere memory for which my heart would not bleed?” But, alas, I could not ask him anything at all.

We returned by the same way we had set out. We saw again, shoals of little fry frolicking on the water’s edge. We noticed a flock of wild geese perched on an abandoned boat, half sunk in slush. We also saw a few more boats carrying devotees from the other bank to the holy man. The tittle-tattle of the devotees returning home and the strokes of the oars mingled together.

As we returned, we spoke little. After covering a short distance along the bank, we got into our boat, which was waiting for us. The boatman rowed it towards Kesighat. Once again, I saw the turtles creeping slowly out of the bushes on the bank and jerking themselves into the water.

Earlier, some of my relatives suggested to me that taking advantage of my stay in Vrindavan, I should consign the asthi (the remains of the bones collected and preserved from the ashes of a cremated person) of my husband into the waters of the Yamuna.

After returning to my cell from the visit to Deboria Baba, I pulled out a trunk from under my bedstead. I opened it and took out a small parcel, wrapped in an old shirt of Madhu. Therein, I had preserved his asthi. The moment I came in contact with the old shirt, I felt Madhu’s bones were integrated with mine...No, I won’t abide by the Hindu rite of depositing the asthi in the holy waters. Wasn’t it my only physical link with Madhu? I closed my small box again. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I could not check myself. The sight of the holy saint could not bring any change to my heart. I had no desire left to go to him a second time and ask for his guidance.