A journey with a Naga sadhu

 

I'm walking to Jhilmil gufa. In order to take a shortcut I end up taking a long-cut as it usually happens. The hill forests are mischievous. The tiny foortrails are green leafy mazes where they will try to keep you busy in solving the puzzle. Then a baba arrives from some other trail. I ask him about the caves where sage Gorakhnath did tapasya for many years. Incidentally he is also going to the caves. 

He is one of the most friendly babas I have seen. It's surprising given the fact that he is a Naga sadhu, the warrior ascetics who worship lord Shiva. Within a few minutes we are talking like good friends. 

Baba Shambhu Giri is from Jalna, Maharastra. He was a sickly child in a poor family who couldn't afford to get treatment for him. His helpless parents offered him to the holy fireplace at the ashram of a Naga baba. The baba took care of him from the age of five, treated him with herbal medicines, and initiated him into the order. He turned out to be a robust sadhu. His guru left his body, leaving the ashram and its 41 acre agricultural land under his care.

'I'm a farming Naga baba. I don't believe in asking for alms. I do farming on the ashram land,' he shows me his tough farming hands. Nagas have fought many times to upkeep dharma. 'Only a person from a warrior clan, the martial castes like Maratha, Jat, Sikh, Rajput, can become a Naga,' he says with pride as he walks with force in his steps like a soldier sage. 

I was surprised to know about the level of their opposition to Brahmins. I will avoid the details of that discussion because my Brahmin friends will get angry about this. I'm from a Jat family and to be frank at the level of community we too have lots of things to say against Brahmins, just like Brahmins have against us. He is happy to learn that I'm also from a martial caste. We Indians can't help getting into the casteist talk even when we are in the hill forests and happen to be a Naga and a spiritual seeker. So we have our share of bitching against the Brahmins. The details should always be avoided. The summary I can say is that Naga baba told me that Brahmins come from the lineage of daityas and in Maharashtra about 75% of people avoid getting a Brahmin for officiating at havan on auspicious occasions like marriages and other pujas. So that should give you the level of our bitching. Caste is a factor even in talks between two strangers in a forest. No wonder caste decides who rules the country. 

'The ashram land gives enough money. Then there is charity which we sadhus get so easily just sitting on our bums whether we deserve it or not. I use the money to manage the ashram, getting poor girls married and other charity work. And once a year I come out on my wanderings like this,' he is very honest about what he thinks and feels, be it money or caste. I like his honesty about most of the things. He just says what he thinks inside. No pretensions. 

Suddenly he gets excited like a boy and goes to a bush nearby. 'Bichhu buti, scorpion plant, I got myself bitten by it yesterday. It's very discomfiting and painful but I won't get any disease for the next six months,' he tells me. Who won't wish to have free, natural insurance against all diseases for six months. I ask him to get me bitten by the buti in the right proportions. He is hesitant. Then agrees. He holds a little shoot softly and gently allowing one tip to touch on the back of my palm. He removes it before it barely touched the skin, like a father would be careful not to harm his child. No effect. I pester him for a bit higher dose. So this time the touch is bigger, and still bigger on successive trials. I don't wince with pain. I don't get my free insurance. Both of us are disappointed. 'This is no bichhu buti. It's some fake plant imitating a famous one,' we concluded. 

Sadhus have a free passage to the place of other sadhus. An ash smeared Naga baba is performing a havan for a seemingly rich man. It's a big fireplace, the trishuls are big and ferocious. We sit in front of our host, he with friendly ease and me with apprehension because I have heard about their inflammable tempers when disturbed. But my Naga baba friend is an insurance against getting shoved away by the tip of a trishul. The ash smeared Naga is calm, focused on his rituals. He nods to our greeting and without stopping the process, gives us soaked grams and raisins as prasadam. To be frank I took almost as much as would fill my cupped palms together. I was hungry. Prasadam as food. The Naga baba watched it with muse. So I have my food and my friend baba has prasadam. 

We take leave from the baba and move onto our path. Then he suddenly points to a place where he faced a leopard during the Corona period. The world of humans had retreated and animals came out. 'It was standing there and snarled. I knew it could injure me if it didn't run away. Had I turned my back to it, it would have reached me in three strides. So I stood upfront and took up a stone. Never look away from a predator and never show your back. And hit it on the nose if it approaches you,' he shares the story. 

Then baba's chappal gets broken. I am wearing shoes. I feel guilty in walking in shoes while the baba has broken chappals. But surprisingly he walks as if it's not broken at all. Once in the gufa he tells me all the stories related to the place. We had tea in front of the Baba Gorakhnath's fireplace. They smoke weed. The cave's resident sadhu is a good host. Again the matter of caste comes up. 'Brahmins and householders aren't allowed to touch the holy ash in the fireplace,' the Gorakhnath order sadhu tells me. The casteist bugs in me are getting fattened today. I nod with glee, almost happy, even joyful about the fact that Brahmins don't hold monopoly to our faith. They maybe manage more of the ritualistic part of it. So we have to accept the fact that casteism is deeply entrenched in our Indian soul. It decides things from caves to presidential palaces. They are on a meditative high on weed, my head spins just with the smoke. My Naga friend will stay here today but I have to walk back. So Baba Shambhu Giri introduces other caves to me like Hanuman gufa and Ganesh gufa. And guides me to the trail that would take me to Neelkanth from where I could easily walk back to Rishikesh. I take out 500 rupees before taking leave. He isn't interested in it. He has enough he already told me. 'Maharaj, your chappal got broken while sharing this lovely journey with me, so it's my duty to give a replacement,' I request in all sincerity. He agreed. 'Ok, if you say so. I will buy good chappals in your name,' he laughs. We take leave.

I had a babboo stick with me as a companion on the way up. But I forgot it at the caves once I met the Naga baba. Now I missed the sturdy stick as I waded through a steep, faint trail among lots of bushes under the forest. And when I reached the place where he had pointed out the leopard I missed my stick even more. What will I do with a stick in the face of a leopard? Well, at least I would try to hit it on the foe's nose as suggested by the baba and get a solace that I die fighting. But there is no leopard and I quickly move through the feeble trails to get to the main path.