Dream Village

How must it feel like, to experience nature in its pristine form? To see waterfalls emerge from hills majestic, hear the sounds of water gently coursing through, and breathe sweet air bereft of the spoils of civilization? In such a setting, the mind naturally relinquishes its control, allowing one to simple feel—without any barriers or imperfections. Might not the greatest artists gladly trade their creations of a lifetime for moments of such undiluted feeling?

The hills of Khopoli house such a dream—our Guruji’s: a village in the lap of nature, where the spirit, mind, and body can every moment renew itself. To this village are invited all, artists included.

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I recently spent a day at this paradise. The occasion: a mega tree-plantation drive.

The first many minutes had me soaked in an unknown bliss—“spaced out” literally of the existence of the world I had only just left behind. Not for long, though. Reality announced itself soon in the form of Dada’s voice. Our work was cut out. In groups we proceeded to our tasks of the morning. Our group had to de-weed the garden; other groups had to move huge boulders or identify and mark equally-spaced spots for mango trees.

Self-appointed supervisors Manoj Nair and Sunil Pai kept us on our toes, or stepped on them (I think the latter), reminding us of how incomplete and lacking in love a world without supervisors would be. The breeze appointed by Dada excelled in its job too—caressing us whenever the hint of a wrinkle made its rare appearance on our tired faces. Songs with creative lyrics—and unmentionable interpretations—provided comic relief.

After two hours of hard labor, we were visibly exhausted. Lunch was well-timed and well-deserved. We experienced first-hand the satisfaction with which a farmer or laborer must enjoy a meal at the end of a hard day’s work. As we munched our meal, we heard a sound outside, first faint, then much louder. We looked at each other and screamed in unison: Rain! This manna from the heavens and our sweet accompaniment to the meal drained away our exhaustion and reenergized us for our next main task of the day—digging ditches and planting trees.

Once again we set about the task in groups. In the next two hours, we dug ditches and planted eight mango trees and more than twenty shrubs in addition to putting together a fine garden patio.

Coursing through the spiritual village is a river, Amba. Now, earlier in the day, some of us had expressed a desire to rest our legs in its flowing waters. This desire was to be fulfilled just moments before sunset. We were ready even as Da’s voice beckoned us; off we stormed to a shallow spot by the river.

Some of us—myself included—tried to escape from getting soaking wet. But sau-sonar-ki-ek-lauhar-ki Sunil Pai had just to flutter his fingers once—and before I knew it my entire body was soaked. Even my phobia of water could not survive such a rude shock. It died an instant death which I am only too happy to celebrate.

We recovered, but just enough to enjoy a splashing three rounds of Ringa-ringa-roses. Inside the water! Da’s definition of a spiritual person came literally to mind: “No one should know how deep in the waters you are.”

With a high-tea session at the corner restaurant ended my first visit to the spiritual village. The heart remains pregnant with memories of an experience that touched the soul and filled it with song.

Gratitude wells up, and a spontaneous desire arises to experience once more this village of dreams. The day is not far—17th of October, 2010—and I am visibly excited. This time I will take recourse to the Zen saying: One never falls into the same river twice.