Ep. 282 – Of Miracles and Maharaj-ji

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You see why it's peculiar to live in a culture like India where all of these events are sort of like everyday occurrences. In the villages we live in in the mountains, every family has dozens of these stories and they just sit by the fire of evenings. Telling them to come back to the west, where these are thought to be miracles is very confusing sometimes difficult to integrate foreign.

Welcome back to another episode of Here and Now with Ram Dass. I'm your host, Jackie Debrinska. And you, yes, each one of you are part of this beautiful community stretched across time and space, bound by the teachings of love and awakening taught by Ram Dass. And some of us have a deep connection to Ram Dass, and some of us have a deep connection to his teacher. But he used to joke that he was just the worm. He was the tasty little morsel that lured us into a deeper love, the love that he experienced through Neem Karoli Baba, also known as Maharaji. And that's what today's episode is all about. This is number 282 and it's recorded in 1978 at the Lama foundation in the beautiful mountains near Taos, New Mexico. And in it, Ram Dass is reading early drafts from what would become the book Miracle of Love, which is this collection of stories about Maharaj Ji and the many, many inexplicable moments that surrounded him. If you want to read more about Maharaj Ji, definitely check out that book. Some of the stories he shares, they're very small and intimate. And others, they are flat out unexplainable. It's about life and death, abundance and lack. It's about minds red and fates shifted. And if you hear stories like this and tend to feel A little skeptical. Just know you're not alone. You know, Ram Dass own mind often sort of buckled under the weight of these experiences. It wasn't that they made made sense, it's that they make contact with something deeper, something timeless, something we know that is true even though our rational mind can't make sense of it. So take a breath, let your shoulders soften and just listen. These are stories of Maharaj through Ram Dass's voice and they continue to ripple into the world. It is how this path of devotion works. We tell stories and we sing and we give gratitude. And I also just want to remind you about this brilliant drink, Magic Mind, which is why we can continue to bring these episodes to you. So I have been on this journey of cutting back coffee and sugar. But in the afternoons I always want a little treat. I get a little twitchy and now I have this amazing thing that I can reach for which is Magic Mind free. It's this little light green capped drink. About a year ago they reached out to sponsor the show and pretty quickly I fell for their original drink. It's my morning go to. And now I have an afternoon go to. It's the world's first caffeine free energy shot, has zero sugar, zero caffeine, but still packed with the full 12 ingredient stack of nootropics and adaptogens and vitamins and antioxidants. It's gentler than the original but it still gets me back into that lovely flow focused groove without the sugar spikes. So if you want ops, if you want options, check out the original or the free or the max which is for the caffeine crew who wants bold and strong and a little bit extra kick. And the cool, cool thing is right now they are giving this community their biggest discount yet. 60% off your first order with the link magicmind.com ramdassmf or you can use the code ramdass60. So grab yourself a little drink, relax, open your heart and listen to these beautiful stories. Namaste and blessings.

The expression on the man's face suggested that he was experiencing waves of rapture. And as I watched him out of the corner of my eye, I felt jealous. We sat next to each other cross legged before a large heavy wooden table which was about chest high. The man, principal of a school in the vicinity, was probably in his late 50s. He was dressed in a heavy woolen suit with socks. His shoes had been left outside the door of the temple, a tie, a muffler, and in the fashion common to the men of the hill country in this late November. A woolen hat. Before us, sitting on the table, cross legged, was another man of indeterminate age, well wrapped in a bright plaid blanket, so that only his head showed above the blanket and a bare foot stuck out beneath it was this foot that was the source of both the rapture and the jealousy, for the first man was massaging the foot with great tenderness and and love, and I was yearning to be in his place. Unlike my neighbor, I was dressed in a white woolen Alfie, which is cut like a knee length potato sack, open at the bottom, with holes for arms and head. Under this was a loincloth called a longoti. My feet were bare and heavily calloused, and like the man sitting before us, I too wore a plaid blanket. How bizarre to find myself in this unlikely costume, sitting in a tiny Hindu temple halfway around the world, jealous because I could not rub an old man's foot. As I reflected on this strange turn of events, the man on the table would talk now to one and now to another of the 20 or so people gathered in a small room at the back of the temple compound. He spoke in Hindi, which I did not understand, but he seemed to be asking one a question, scolding another, joking with a third, and giving instructions to a fourth. And in the midst of these conversations, I saw him move ever so slightly and his other foot appeared beneath the blanket just by me. Though I suspected that only people who had been around him for some time were allowed to massage his feet, and I was the newest comer, I decided I couldn't be faulted for trying so slowly. Hands went up and touched the foot and began to massage. But instead of waves of bliss, my mind was full of the sharp edges of doubt and confusion as to whether I should use my fingertips or my palms. Just as suddenly as the foot appeared, it was withdrawn back under the blanket. My mind was filled with self recrimination about my own impurity. You all recognize that one. But the familiar thoughts of guilt were interrupted by a commotion at the back of the room. A man had entered, who in the West I might have considered in my role as a professional psychologist, a psychotic. But here, in an unfamiliar culture, I could not be sure. The blanketed man on the table was screaming at the man in the back, and the latter was obviously uncomfortable and was answering in monosyllables that were almost inaudible. Then the man on the table held out his hand, palm upward, and commanded something of the fellow in the rear. Again there was a denial from the Rear. But the man on the table was not to be deterred. While seeming to grow in stature, he again demanded something at that. The fellow in the back reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a tiny bird with a stick through its chest. The bird was conveyed to the front, and as it passed me, I could see that the bird was clearly very dead. The man on the table took the bird all the while yelling and berating the man in the back, and I watched him pull the stick out of the bird's body. Then he called the young temple priest and handed him the bird, saying over and over, as was later translated by the principal, to my side, take it out and give it water. Take it out and give it water. But as the priest took it and started to walk out the door, the bird flew out of his hand and away. A moment before this event could even register in my mind, the man on the table turned towards me and said, you know Mahatma Gandhi, the school principal became our translator. Yes, I've heard of him. He was a very great saint. You should be like him. I'd like to be. Then he handed me an apple and was off talking to somebody else. At that moment, the confusion I was experiencing seemed to be leading to the edge of hysteria. The unanswered questions piled one on top of another. And that was the moment the foot appeared again before me. And again I reached for it. But this time my mind was too overwhelmed to analyze procedure. I just clung to the foot as a drowning man to a life preserver. It was only a few minutes later that we were all told to leave, leave the room by the man on the table. As soon as we were outside, I filled my water pot and escaped to the latrine where I could squat in peace. What about the bird? Should I actually trust my senses that I had seen a very dead bird fly away? And what about being like Mahatma Gandhi? Was that a hint about the future? But even more profound than these questions was the more basic one. What was I doing here at all? Not only were the clothes, place, way of life and the physical situation alien to what I had always known, but the psychological space was so unfamiliar, my thoughts fixed once again as they had done innumerable times recently on the day a month previously when I first had met the man on the table, who I now knew as Maharaji. That day he had been sitting under a tree on a hill overlooking a valley. He'd been surrounded by 10 or 12 Indian people. But what my thoughts reach for now was not the setting, but Rather, one event of the day, a look that was exchanged between us. Even now, as I thought of that look, I could feel the tears welling up and the waves of emotion engulfing me as they had done at that moment. And each time I had relived that moment since. What had happened in that moment? I recall a violent wrenching in my chest, as if doors long rusted shut were being painfully opened. And I felt love. An innocent love that fleetingly reminded me of my earliest childhood. A love that made me suddenly feel that I had come home, even though home was physically and psychologically totally unfamiliar. And I had cried. Perhaps wept is a better word, as this man had patted me on the head and giggled. Someone else was approaching the latrine, so I vacated the tiny cell. We had not yet been called back into the room, nor were there instructions for me to return to the temple some eight miles away where I was being housed. The principal approached me and said to me, you know of Mahatma Gandhi? I knew a little, but I realized that he wanted to tell me about it. So I said, I don't know much. Gandhiji was a great saint. He was a very religious man. He said his spiritual attainments gave him the political power necessary to remove the British from India. He was a very simple man who lived by the Bhagavad Gita. And then he added, babaji says you are a great saint and should be like Gandhiji. Me, the great saint. Images flash through my mind of Christian saints such as Paul and John and Teresa and Thomas, as well as the images of Mahatma Gandhi walking barefoot into Parliament in London. Just more confusion. Many years later, I came to understand that the term saint in India, unlike the way it is used by Christianity, refers to something that is not a rarity, but really rather implies a good and pure person. But even so, it did not apply to who I thought myself to be. But I was too confused. I shifted to the other topic and I asked the principal what happened with the bird. He said, the man is not well in the head and he had killed the bird. Babaji scolded him, and then, by his grace, the bird was healed. The tone in which he said this was matter of fact. It did not convey the excitement of one who was reporting the miracle of bringing the dead back to life. Though I nodded agreeably and looked impressed, inside me, the confusion was merely compounded. And as soon as the opportunity allowed, I wandered off myself to find some method in this madness.

Okay.

Just reading you excerpts. This is a 600 page book. Maharaja Drew devotees to him in a variety of ways. Christ's statement to his disciples that henceforth they would be fishers of men is most appropriate. For in the drawing of a devotee to the Path of the Spirit there is the lure, the planting of the hook, the playing of the fish and ultimately the landing. With some, Maharaji hooked his fish deep at the first meeting and landed it immediately. But for others, the process involved a much slower seduction. In the process, Maharaj Ji sometimes read minds, but sometimes acted the foolishness. Sometimes he awakened anger or paranoia, but more often he touched places of deepest love. Sometimes he ignored people at first or even rejected them. But with others he called their names and had them brought to him. For some, he initially fulfilled some worldly need or desire. But for others he related to them only about the Spirit. Each person was unique, and Maharaj Ji dealt with each in a unique fashion. One of Maharaj Ji's closest devotees for the last 20 years gave the following. In 1935, I was on vacation from school and went to Dakshineswar. That's where Ramakrishna had lived. When I reached the place where there were many Shiva temples. Shiva temples. I chose to go in one. And just then a man appeared before me whom I had not noticed to be there before. My son, the man said, you are a Brahmin. I shall give you a mantra. I will not take it. I said, I do not believe in all that. You must take it. He insisted, and so I relented. Thereafter, I faithfully recited the mantra daily. Many years passed. It was in June 1955, 20 years later, I had some close friends, friends who were like members of the family. Every Sunday we chat in the evening at our house. Around 9pm I saw my wife, aunt and mother going out. I asked them where and they said they were going to an adjoining house that some Baba was visiting. One of the fellows with me said cynically, does he eat? I can arrange food for him. The fellow was a hunter. My wife said, you shouldn't say things like that. In 10 minutes my wife and my mother and my auntie returned. They reported that he had been sitting in a dirt hut with an oil lamp and had told them to go. When they didn't go, he had said, go, your husband's Bengali friends have come. Go and serve them tea. I shall come in the morning. I had noticed for a number of years this man says that at times great numbers of people would go to that hut. Rickshaws, tongas, cycles, and on foot. But we had never been curious as to why this year my wife found out from a girl in the family. The next morning, my wife and I went over there together. Maharaji was on a small cot in a tiny room. As we entered, he sprung up and took my hand saying, let's go. We left so fast that my wife had to remove her sandals to keep up. He took us to our own house and said, I shall stay with you from now on. When the woman from the other house came to take him back, he would not go. And he stayed there every time. He was in that city for the next 20 years, then in that house. When he came back to the house, Maharaj questioned me and said, you are a devotee of Shiva. Yes. You already have your mantra. It was at that moment that I realized that it had been Maharaj who had given me the mantra 20 years before. A second story. A man came from Madras, southern India, only to see the big Hanuman temple. He brought fruits and sweets for Hanumanji. As he approached the temple, he saw a crowd and asked about it. They said it was because of Maharaj ji. As he was passing Maharaj ji, in whom he felt no interest, Maharaj ji called out to him, you are coming from Madras? The man replied that he was. Your daughter has disappeared. Has she been found? Asked Maharaj ji. No, said the man. Why don't you finish the book you've been working on? Asked Maharaj ji. The man was overwhelmed. Put the fruit and sweets at Maharaj's feet. Another story. An Agra water engineer was living with his brother and wife. Since he wasn't married when Maharaj came. Maharaj was the guru of the brother and the wife. The engineer went into the farthest away room so he wouldn't have to be involved with Maharaj. Because he often said, sadhus are no good. After some time in the front room, meeting many people, Maharaj got up, went into the room where the man was. He walked in, sat down and said, sadhus are no good. After that, the man became a devotee. An English girl was on a bus in London with many empty seats. Then an old man carrying a blanket got on the bus and chose to sit in the window seat beside her so that she had to stand up to let him in. This annoyed her somewhat, but as he sat down, he gave her such a sweet and gentle smile that she forgot her annoyance and sat thinking to herself, what a sweet old man. Before the bus came to the next stop on its route, she turned to look at him again, but he was gone. How could he have gotten off without her standing to let him pass. And the bus had not stopped again since he got on. Later she went to India on the advice of a friend who was there and saw a picture of Maharaj Ji. It was that same man. She located Maharaj Ji and found out that the day in which she had seen him on a bus in London carrying a specific plaid blanket, a woman in India had given Maharaj just such a blanket. He tell you a story about Ramana Maharshi at this point, it's a very unusual Ramana Maharshi story. Because very rarely did Ramana Maharshi show this kind of manifestation. He usually sat very quiet at tir of anomaly and people would just come and sit quietly with him. This was told to us by a. An Indian man who had grown up in Tiruvannamali and had spent his childhood around Ramana Maharshi. Chaitanya and I were in India together and heard the story. And this young Indian had grown up and he had joined the British Air Force. And he came back to see and he thought of Ramana Maharshi, who was an incredibly great Indian saint. He thought of him as a sort of like a grandfather. He was not a very spiritual fellow at that time. He came back to show off his uniform to Ramana Maharshi. And he was very impressed, this young man, with Western technology. And he sort of came in to look at the old man and sort of be slightly arrogant. I suspect at that same time that he came to visit Ramana Maharshi, there was an Englishman there. The Englishman was the head of a very large firm that had subsidiaries or that had other. Had had a factory at any rate in Madras nearby. The Englishman had been very unhappy in England. And in talking with his plant manager in Madras, the plant manager said, there is a very great saint near here. Why don't you come and see him? So the Englishman, the usual Western way, decided, I will go and I will spend a month and I will get peace from the saint. And so he flew his seaplane to Madras from England and he went to see Ramana Maharshi. And he came in and he sat down in front of Ramana Maharshi just as this young Indian in his uniform was there. And the Englishman sat there for about 20 minutes and then he got up very annoyed. And he said, I've seen all I care to see. I'm going back to England. There's nothing here for me. And Ramana Maharshi at that moment was getting up to leave the room. No, I take that back Ramana Maharshi was sitting there and he said to the man, sir, before you leave, would you do one favor for me? Man said, yes, what do you want? He said, would you write a note to your wife? So the man didn't understand it. He said, all right, I'll do that. So he took a pad of paper and he wrote to his wife, Dear Millicent, I have not found what I came for and I will be home on Friday. I hope you remember to make an appointment for our daughter to see the dentist. And don't forget to water the flowers. Your husband, Harold. And then he held the note and folded it. And then Ramana Maharshi reached out and took the note. And Ramana Maharshi wore only a loincloth so that his buttocks were bare. And he just stuck the note under one corner of his buttocks. And then he said to the man, now would you just sit down for a few minutes? And they sat for about, oh, five or ten minutes, I guess. The man was getting very impatient. And then Ramana Maharshi got up to walk out and as he was doing so, he handed the man the note from under his buttocks back. The man couldn't understand, and he opened the note and there was a note from his wife saying, dear Harold, I'm so sorry you didn't find what you wanted. In India, I have made the appointment for our daughter's dentist and I have watered the floor flowers. I would write a longer letter, but the dark gentleman with the turban that brought this note is hurrying me. Signed Millicent. And as Ramana Maharshi left, he turned to this young military man and just smiled. That a fair statement of that, you see why it's peculiar to live in a culture like India where all of these events are sort of like everyday occurrences in the villages we live in, in the mountains. Every family has dozens of these stories. And they just sit by the fire of evenings telling them to come back to the west. Where these are thought to be, quote, miracles is very confusing sometimes difficult to integrate. This is a very special story. I told this story the other day. To who did I tell this story? Somebody once in Bhumi Adar. This is a small temple by the side of the road where Maharaji was staying the night. We had all taken our evening meal and had retired at 10:30pm around 1am this is being told by Siddhima, one of the maas, the women that took care of Maharaj. Around 1am Maharaji started yelling that he was very hungry and he must have dal and chapatis. I awoke and reminded him that he had already eaten, but he insisted that he must have dal and chapatis. Who can understand the ways of such a being? So I woke Brahmachari Baba, the pujari, the priest, and he built a fire and prepared the food. It was ready about 2am and we watched Maharaj consume the food with great hunger. Then we all again retired. In the morning, at about 11, a telegram arrived saying that one of Maharaj's old devotees had died down in the plains about 150 miles away the previous night at 2am when the telegram was read to Maharaj, he said, you see, that's why I needed chapatis and dal. This aroused our curiosity because we didn't see it all. Neither do you. We pressed him, but he would say nothing more. Finally, after two or three days of our persistence, he finally said, don't you see? He, the man who had died, had been wishing for chapatis and dal, and I didn't want him to carry that desire on through death, for it would affect a future birth. That's the story. Sometimes when visiting homes, he'd come to the door and say he was very hungry and could he eat in very poor homes where there might not be any food? He would just say he was very thirsty and ask for water. In Lucknow, Maharaj took some public works officials in their car, directed them to the police, poorest part of town where the public works does not do any work for the people. And then from one of the shacks called forth a Muslim who Maharaji called a muscleman. And they embraced. And then Maharaj ji said, I'm very hungry. The man said, but Maharaj ji, I have no food. Wicked one. You have two rotis, two chapatis hidden in the roof. The man was surprised that Maharaj knew, and he got them. Maharaj ate one with relish and handed the other to the officials who were Hindu Brahmins, who'd never eat anything unless it's prepared by a special Brahmin cook and said, take prasad, meaning take consecrated fruit because they wouldn't take it. And then he would laugh. I was told in previous years, when Maharaj would roam and come into towns such as Nanital, all the women would prefer food in hopes he would come. And KK who followed him from early morning until late at night, watched him one day consume 49 full meals in one day. Another reported watching him take 10 meals in a row. And then you can remember the Anandamayma story that I told you last night and put that in that same context. A man brought some oranges to Maharaj Ji and put them in a basket by his side that was empty. Maharaj Ji started giving the oranges to the people in the room and then to others in the temple. The man brought eight oranges. Maharaji gave out 48. When Maharaj ji performed these unusual feats, he usually masked his behavior so no one would see what he was doing. Often this process of disguise would involve incredible abuse and yelling, thus shifting attention, as any good magician would do towards devotees, thus creating them in them great guilt, as if it were their own sloppiness that had led to the misplacement of the food. Later, he would be very tender with them, and they sensed that. That he had used them, but had not used them. One time they ran out of ghee, clarified butter, at Hanumangar. And Maharaj asked a devotee in secret to get some water in a bucket and put it in the woods. Then he said, I have to go and take a piss. And he went out. When he returned, he was yelling. He went over to Asadhu and berated him for not watching the supplies. He said, thieves are going to steal, have been stealing the ghee. Look. Maharaj said, they have put a tin of ghee out here in the woods. And they brought in the bucket filled with ghee. A devotee was in Allahabad with Maharaj at mela time, at the Kumbha Mela, the gathering of the saints. Maharaj ji said there were some maas, some ladies who had come from Nainital and said, let's go to the mela grounds and find them. There are millions of people at the mela grounds. They took a taxi. Maharaj ji then dismissed the taxi. It was dark and so many thousands of people were crowded. There were. Maharaj Ji sent this devotee and a friend to look. But they were fearful of losing Maharaj ji. So they made only a cursory inspection, rushing back, saying they couldn't find the maas. Finally, Maharaj Ji said he would go in the third tent that he investigated. He found them just as they were finishing a puja, a prayer ceremony to Maharaj. They had been doing this puja every day for 30 days, hoping for his darshan, that he would come and visit with them. And this was the final day. They had made an image of Maharaj Ji. Maharaj walked in and stood at the back of the tent just as they were finishing the ceremony. Then he brought the Ma's to the devotee's house and sent these boys out for milk and sweets. The boys were students and didn't want to spend all their money. So they said to each other, after all, how much can a Ma drink? So they bought small amounts of sweets and milk. Maharaj berated them and threw them out. They sat on the porch repentant. Later he called them into his room and asked, do you think I need you to go and get sweets? And there in the room were buckets and buckets of sweets. And Maharaj Ji made them eat and eat and eat. He would put you in the wrong, catch you unprepared and then help you. Once we were in Naini Ta, we had been with Maharaj much during the day and had returned to our house far for the evening meal. There were four of us and my wife had prepared just enough food for us. Only then my small daughter heard Maharaj Ji passing by on his way from the government house. And she went out and said, Maharaj, we live here, come to our house. I called her and said, don't bother Maharaj. We have been with him much today also I realized that that we had only a little food in the house and the shops had all closed. But Maharaj Ji answered, no, I must go to your house. And came in bringing 20 people with him. After a few minutes he said to me, these people are very hungry, give them food. I wouldn't say no because I knew his strength. So I went to towards the kitchen. Maharaj yelled and hurry up. In the kitchen. I whispered to my wife what to do. We had only enough vegetables in the small pot for the four of us and the market was already closed. My wife, who had more faith, said, don't worry, Maharaji will take care of it. Here, take this pot. The small pot which he covered. Don't remove the COVID to look inside. Here is a large serving spoon. Just serve the people and I will make puris chapatis. I did as she said, not looking inside each person I gave one or two for spoons and then asked each one, do you want more? Some said yes and I gave it to them. Everyone got as much vegetables and poris as they wanted. Maharaj was smiling. Then he said, everyone has taken, everyone has full. This is a very big feast. And just in view of the story we were reading last night, just this little one. The village children. This is when Maharaji was much younger. Many years ago in the town of Nevkorori, the village children of the area often came to the lake herding their cows and goats. Seeing no one around, they hung their lunch bundles on the low hanging branches of the trees and went off to to play. They returned to find that their lunches were missing and Maharaj was sitting contentedly under the tree. He smiled at the children and in exchange for their food, he pulled out ladoos sweets from under his garment. The children ate to their heart's content. Once I said, this is another person. Once I said, why do you feed so many people and why so much? I could eat so little and stay alive. Maharaj Maharaji answered. We have an inner thirst for food. We don't know of it. Even if you don't feel you can eat, your soul has a thirst for food.

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This show is sponsored by BetterHelp. Job related stress can feel all consuming A recent study found that 61% of workers worldwide report elevated stress levels this summer. Make your mental health a priority. Therapy offers support for whatever stress the workday or life throws at you. It helps you build resilience, manage emotions, and develop coping skills. With the convenience of joining therapy sessions at the click of a button, BetterHelp fits seamlessly into busy lives. Plus, you can switch therapists at any time. As the largest online therapy provider in the world, BetterHelp can provide access to mental health professionals with a diverse variety of expertise. Unwind from work with BetterHelp, our listeners get 10% off their first month at betterhelp.com ramdas that's BetterHelp H E L P.com ramdass.