BRATTLEBORO — Feb. 5: It's pitch black outside as I'm driving north on Interstate 91 negotiating rush-hour traffic just north of Ingleside Mall, listening to NPR on the radio.
The 6 o'clock news comes on.
The usual . . . the latest from Iraq; the presidential campaign. Then an announcement: “Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, founder of the transcendental meditation program, died today at his headquarters in Vlodrop, Holland.”
A chill passes through me. I'm riveted to the radio.
I need to hear this again.
I am not sure what I just heard. Maybe it's a mistake . . . a misread news item.
This is the kind of news one hopes will come to you gently from a friend, someone who tells you, “Have a seat and brace yourself; this is going to be bad.”
Not the kind of news one wants to hear over the radio driving on the interstate.
My mind starts bouncing off itself, replaying the announcement over and over again in my head. I'm on the verge of being overwhelmed. Maybe I should pull off the highway so I can absorb this. No - I need to get home right away.
That night when I got into bed I remembered the way I felt the night my mother passed away.
Now I tried to register what I was feeling at this moment.
Part of this did not seem real at all.
In a way, I did not feel any different . . . unless I made myself think about it, unless I reminded myself that somebody extremely important to me was no longer physically present on the earth. That I would not be able to see and speak with them in person again.
Except for the fact that it was hard for me to get my head around that intellectually and to deal with the feeling of extreme emptiness that I anticipated would accompany that - I was actually feeling a lot of deep inner peace and connectedness with Maharishi.
It was a night of broken sleep. I switched back and forth between feeling a deep state of peace and union and feeling tormented by the thought recurring repeatedly in my mind: Maharishi has passed away.
I woke early the next morning and went straight to my computer so I could listen to the Maharishi Channel broadcast live from Vlodrop, Holland on the Internet.
After a while the voice of Dr. Benjamin Feldman, one of the leaders of the TM movement, came on: “The funeral ceremonies for Maharishi will be held in India. Everyone from around the world is invited to attend. People should get their visas and make flight arrangements immediately."
* * *
What prompted me to become one of the hundreds of people who traveled from all parts of the globe to join the crowd of 40,000 on the banks of the Ganges in Allahabad, India on Feb. 11 to pay final respects to Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, one of the great spiritual teachers of our time?
I'm one of more than 6 million people around the world who have learned the transcendental meditation technique, including 1 million in the U.S. alone.
TM is a simple, mental technique which dissolves stress, increases creativity, and improves health in May of 1973 after hearing a free introductory lecture at Brooks Memorial Library. I was 19 and home on summer break from the University of Vermont, where I was an education major. That was 35 years ago. I became a TM teacher and have been working for the TM organization ever since.
Benefits of the technique - which include benefits for the mind, health and society as a whole, including increased IQ, reduced risk of heart attacks and strokes, decreased crime rate, as well as many other benefits-have been verified by over 600 scientific studies at more than 200 independent research institutions.
Maharishi created a global structure for the TM organization which has established Maharishi Centers of Invincibility in every major city of the world, including Brattleboro. These centers teach TM and its related programs: preventive health care (Maharishi Ayurveda); environmentally friendly architecture which designs fortune-creating buildings built according to the principles of Natural Law (Maharishi Sthapatyayeda); and programs for averting problems in the life of an individual and society before they have a chance to arise (Maharishi Jyotish and Yagya programs).
* * *
Feb. 10, Allahabad, India: I was woken from a sound sleep by sudden movement inside the railway car.
“Allahabad-end of the line!”
After a ten-hour overnight trainride from Delhi to Allahabad, I stepped out onto the railway platform into the early morning air. It was 6 a.m.
This was India.
Soft morning light filtered through the leaves of the trees overhead onto the open-air platform. The air was full and warm.
In front of me a Sannyasi, a wandering Indian monk of the recluse order, in orange robes carrying nothing other than a small water pot walked casually along the platform.
A travel companion from the UK who I had just met on the train recognized someone he knew, also from the UK, disembarking from another car. The three of us, bags in hand, trudged out of the railway station into the gentle cacophony of Allahabad's awakening downtown district looking for hotel signs.
Now that we were out walking on the main street, we could feel the full effect of the sun beating down on us. It was like a hothouse inside the down parka and snow boots I was still wearing.
Large black cows stood in the middle of the roadway, their rumps glistening in the morning sunlight. They mooed and gently nudged at us with their muzzles looking for food as we passed by. Bicycle rickshaw drivers accosted us with shouts from all sides, imploring us to ride with them. Vendors waved their wares in the air and called out after us.
We had been told there were no hotel rooms left in Allahabad - all had already been taken. But after circling the neighborhood for three hours in a door-to-door search we finally met with success and checked into the Hotel Prayag Raj.
I ran up the hotel stairs to lock my carry-on in my room on the third floor and returned to the lobby where I found Barry, the man we had just met up with at the train station, signing into the hotel logbook.
He took a quick look at his watch and said in a thick Scottish brogue: “It's 10 a.m. We can go to Sangam and then go see Maharishi's body.”
“Sangam” is the place where India's three most sacred rivers - the Ganges, the Yamuna, and the Saraswati - meet. It is where Maharishi's funeral ceremony was scheduled to take place the following day.
I was thrilled. I had no idea what to expect when I arrived in India. I had been told only that the funeral ceremonies would take place on Monday, Feb. 11 in Allahabad. I had no idea there might be a possibility of seeing Maharishi.
* * *
Feb. 10, Maharishi's Academy: Three hours - one bicycle rickshaw ride and a dip in and boat ride across the Ganges-later, Barry and I stood at the entrance to a courtyard in Maharishi's Academy, where we were told Maharishi was lying in state.
Officials from the Indian TM movement ushered us past a long queue of Indians waiting patiently, toward a much shorter line designated for foreigners.
As I passed beneath an adobe archway covered with hundreds of garlands made of marigolds, I felt like I was entering another world, leaving behind all the adventures of the three previous days of travel from Brattleboro to Allahabad.
It was 1 p.m., and the sun shone brightly down onto a well-manicured courtyard with graveled pathways. In the center of the courtyard was a large circular fountain made of cement - about ten feet in diameter.
On top of the walls of the fountain stood a large poster of Maharishi smiling.
Several Indian TM officials wearing ribboned ID badges graciously motioned us onward toward a large meeting hall with an open doorway where people silently waited to go inside.
As we stood there waiting I noticed my heart start to beat more quickly.
We had made it. The goal of the past three sleepless days of incessant travel and hurried arrangements was at hand. Finally it was our turn to go inside the hall.
* * *
The air, fragrant with the smell of rose petals, was cool on my face as I stepped over the threshold. The room closed around me - cool, dark, and shady, lit only by sunlight filtering through the open doorway.
The sound of Vedic pundits chanting filled my ears. Veda is a Sanskrit word that means “knowledge,” and Vedic pundits are men and boys who chant the traditional Vedic texts and perform Vedic ceremonies which are an integral part of Indian culture. In India it is traditional to have Vedic pundits conduct wedding ceremonies, funeral rites and chant at traditional festivals which occur almost daily in India.
The feeling inside the hall overcame me. My awareness felt very expanded. I felt propelled forward as if by a power not my own. With folded hands I followed the line in front of me as we passed between a cordon of draped marigold garlands.
I was struck by the beauty of the voices of the young pundits I heard chanting. I looked to my left and saw 10 to 12 pundits in their teens and twenties dressed in beautiful white dhotis (tradition Indian robes) and shawls sitting cross-legged on a small upraised stage covered in white cloth.
I felt I was gliding forward in a timeless realm.
Suddenly, my breath stopped. I realized that Maharishi was sitting on a dais immediately to my right - fully upright in full lotus position.
I had not expected this.
I turned sideways so I could look at him more closely.
He was dressed in an immaculately pressed white silk dhoti just as I've always seen him - in person and in pictures. There was a broad white silk band wrapped around the top of his head and his forehead.
His presence was unexpectedly palpable. It was the exact feeling I'd experienced the few brief times I've had an opportunity to sit in a lecture hall with Maharishi while he was alive.
I was overcome with awe and a sense of grace, stillness and beauty.
I continued following the people in line in front of me. At the end of the cordon we took a sharp right and walked beside Maharishi. The pathway then turned left and took us directly in front of where he was sitting.
The fragrance of rose petals became stronger.
As we turned left through a corridor roped with garlands we now stood directly in front of Maharishi. There we stopped and placed rose petals in front of him as we bowed our heads and offered our final respects.
As I stood before him I could not stop looking at his face. It looked young, much younger than photographs I had seen of him in recent years. The smile on his face reflected serenity and an expression of very profound bliss. I have always thought Maharishi looks blissful, but I had never seen such bliss in his face as I saw today.
* * *
It was hard to move on. The feeling at that spot was sublime. But glancing backwards I could see there was a long line of people stretching behind me still waiting to come inside.
In measured step we continued walking in silence around the back of the dais where Maharishi sat and came straight down the other side. As I emerged from the cordoned-off area I could see rows of folding lawn chairs extending to the back of the hall.
We were some of the first Westerners to arrive - so leaving the first couple of rows for dignitaries, I sat down in the third row from where I could see Maharishi very clearly.
I closed my eyes and meditated.
As I continued to meditate, people continuously continued to enter the doorway.
When I opened my eyes again, the seats around and stretching behind me were now filled with hundreds of people.
Everyone was sitting quietly, meditating. The deep silence that absorbed me - feelings of inner peace, fullness of heart and lively bliss - saturated the room. Maharishi's presence filled the air.
* * *
The hours quietly passed as if time did not exist at all.
Whenever I opened my eyes I saw only the steady stream of people of all different nationalities and walks of life coming to pay their final respects all through the night.
As the deep of night turned into early morning I realized that these precious hours of sitting in Maharishi's presence would soon be coming to and end.
It was such comfort to sit in the presence of the hundreds of people who surrounded me - many, leaders and teachers of Maharishi's worldwide movement and many long-time practitioners of Maharishi's programs.
As we sat there meditating together it felt as though we were one unified mind and heart feeling such unfathomable gratitude and respect for this teacher - so obviously highly revered in his native India - who had spent literally every moment of his life since he first met his own teacher, whom he referred to as Guru Dev, dedicated to removing the suffering of all mankind.
* * *
Feb. 11: The funeral procession. Nighttime turned into day, and more and more people entered the hall. Just as the first morning light filtered through the sky there was an announcement asking if everyone who had had a chance to be in the hall with Maharishi more than an hour could please go outside and give their seats to people who were just arriving.
I had been sitting in the hall for over 18 hours. I decided it was time I could leave.
I stepped outside into the chill morning air. The courtyard was filled with people milling about. Now for the first time I could actually see who was there.
One of the first familiar faces I saw was a radiant Susel Merton Fagan from Putney, Vt. “I'm so glad you made it!” she greeted me.
Next, I ran into Karen Falk, a native of Dummerston whom I'd known since high school.
And then Stella Vera Kilcher, a friend of mine from college who had also gone to Putney School, as had Karen and Susel.
It seemed like poetic justice that I had traveled thousand of miles to meet up with my neighbors from the Brattleboro area.
* * *
This experience was a great confluence of time, space, and personal history.
By mid-morning everyone in the hall had been asked to move outside, and we all waited in the courtyard together. By this time the crowds had really swelled, and we were all packed in shoulder to shoulder.
We heard that inside the meeting hall Maharishi's body was being prepared to be taken to the cremation ground. We were told that according to Vedic tradition, ladies are not allowed to be present at the cremation ceremony. So hundreds of us waited in the courtyard to see Maharishi one last time as his body was being carried to the funeral pyre.
By now the road leading to the cremation site was packed with thousands of people. Across the street, we could see the young pundits who are students at Maharishi's Academy lined up on the rooftops of their dormitories.
I had a good spot, standing just behind the rope that cordoned off the pathway for the funeral procession.
A newspaper reporter was busily snapping photographs of a small group of young girls standing in front of me who were wearing brightly colored silk saris and garlands of flowers around their necks.
A group of men tied together the ends of four large bamboo poles to make a palanquin on which to carry Maharishi's body.
A friend of mine passed me a garland, and we leaned over the rope to toss it over the end of one of the poles which was sticking out.
A group of four Indian men stood in the middle of the pathway that was cordoned off, clapping together finger cymbals that they held in their hands to accompany themselves while they sang and danced to traditional Indian bhajans (devotional songs). One man beat a drum on both ends with his hands.
A friend of mine leaned over and whispered that she had read that singing and dancing are a traditional part of a Vedic funeral procession.
At 11 a.m. there was sudden movement at the door of the meeting hall, and although I couldn't see what was happening due to the thickness of the crowds, it was obvious that Maharishi's body was being carried out.
I held my ground next to the rope where I stood as a loud crushing throng of humanity pushed its way down the procession path accompanying Maharishi's body.
The singing and chanting reached a crescendo and amidst loud shouts of “Maharishi Jaya Ho!” and “Jai Guru Dev!” people on the sidelines threw large handfuls of rose petals onto Maharishi's body.
As the palanquin drew closer, at first all I could see was a large pile of flowers. Then as the procession passed directly in front of me a few feet away, I could see that Maharishi's body was wrapped in white silk and was lying down on the palanquin covered with garlands and rose petals.
Joining in the throng, I threw a large handful of rose petals onto Maharishi's body as it passed by and got swallowed up by the crowd.