by Shanay B, UK
I’m sure all of us have felt Mohanji’s protective hand during the storms of life—offering emotional and spiritual protection in times of need. This grace factor, as many call it, is difficult to explain. It’s like describing an invisible man in a cloak who wraps that cloak of strength around us just when we need it most. How can you explain that to someone? Often, it’s only years later that we realise how grace was quietly at work, protecting us during our hardest times.
I want to share the most tangible ways Mohanji has protected me since I first met him in 2015. Back then, I was a young student, freshly out of university, caught up in drinking, partying, and escapism—my teenage “mantras.” Having been born and raised in Europe, I had no idea what a master or guru was, nor any real understanding of spirituality. But looking back now, I can see that something—or rather, someone—was watching over me all along: Mohanji.
I met him at a London retreat when I was 22. Innocently, I asked whether I should accept a youth volunteer programme in rural villages in Uganda. His blessing mattered to me because I had always wanted to do meaningful work abroad—my first real taste of seva. Mohanji told me, “Keep my eye card and connect to my eyes every day.” Though I still felt nervous, I left with a sense of support and quiet confidence.
Before leaving, I worried that I’d have nothing to eat as a vegetarian. But my host turned out to be a loving grandmother and an incredible cook. She prepared pasta, beans, rice, cassava, and fresh vegetables every day. She cared for us as though we were her own children and would often say, “I love you girls.” Honestly, I doubted I’d last even a week—we were to live without electricity or running water for four months in one of the most rural areas of Uganda. When I first heard this, I nearly broke down in tears. Yet it turned out to be one of my greatest blessings.
Without electricity to charge our phones, we spent long evenings playing with local children in the courtyard, tending farm animals, or reading. One day, my roommate said, “Don’t you think we’ve been super lucky on this trip?” I only realised years later that it was the grace factor that made the experience so unexpectedly joyful.
During my first month in Uganda, however, I could hardly sleep. The beds were infested with bedbugs, mosquitoes, termites, and ants—creatures of every kind crawling through the night. I woke up with bleeding rashes, and the exhaustion in that heat was unbearable. I was ready to give up and go home. Our team leader explained that since we were in one of the most remote villages, nothing could be done. “Just stick it out,” we were told.
In desperation, I cried out to Mohanji: “I can’t do this anymore! Please help!”
Two days later, a miracle happened. Two men from the capital city arrived at our host home dressed in hazmat suits and masks. They said they were from pest control and had been sent to fumigate the house. My team and I were moved to a modern hotel in the nearby town for two nights, where we finally had a hot shower and peaceful sleep. When we returned, every bug and creature—mice, rats, lizards, spiders, even mosquitoes—had left. The house was quiet and clean. From then on, we slept peacefully and could focus fully on our work. Even our host family was relieved; they could cook in peace without being bitten or harassed by mosquitoes.
That was the first time Mohanji’s grace was so visible. But there were two other times in Uganda when he quite literally saved me from an early departure.
One evening, my friend and I travelled to another village to celebrate a friend’s birthday. By 8 pm, it was dark, and we went to the taxi stand to return home. The drivers there spoke little English and became aggressive when we tried to explain where we needed to go. Eventually, we learned that the public taxis—small eight-seater vans—stopped running after 7 pm. Desperate to get back, we hired a motorcycle taxi instead. It was a miracle that the driver even knew our village.
He was clearly unhappy about driving so far at night. As we sped along the red dirt roads, the darkness deepened—there were no streetlights, only the faint beam of the bike’s headlight. I held onto my friend tightly as dust flew into our eyes and mouths. Wild dogs barked in the distance; we’d been warned never to go out after dark because of them. To make matters worse, the driver was steering with one hand and texting with the other. Then it began to rain—hard.
I panicked. We couldn’t see a metre ahead. Mud and grit splashed into our faces, and the driver kept letting go of the handlebars to wipe his eyes. The bike wobbled, and I was sure we wouldn’t make it home. I prayed desperately: “Mohanji, please! We’re not going to make it. Please get us home safely!”
And then, out of nowhere, a people-carrier taxi appeared beside us. It was impossible—we had been told taxis didn’t run after 7 pm. I waved frantically, and somehow, the two drivers communicated. The taxi pulled over, and we climbed in. The car was heading directly to our village, and I had just enough cash to pay the fare. We reached home safely, shaken but alive.
The second time Mohanji protected me was even more astonishing.
Our bathroom setup in rural Uganda was simple: four walls, no roof, and a small bucket for bathing. Next to it stood the pit latrines covered by a tin roof. One afternoon, I went for a bucket shower, wrapped in a towel, when I heard a thud. A black mamba—one of the deadliest snakes in the world—had fallen from the toilet roof right in front of me.
I froze. I was trapped at the end of the narrow passageway with nowhere to run. I screamed and mentally called out Mohanji’s name. Our house helper came running, grabbed a stick, and struck the snake until it slithered away. My life had been spared—again.
After that incident, a deep calm settled within me. It was as if something heavy had been lifted. I was no longer afraid, even when I saw black mambas later on. I could finally enjoy the rest of my stay—feeling safe, loved, and cared for.
Looking back, I see how Mohanji’s grace transformed everything—from the food I ate to the roof over my head, to the protection I received in life-threatening moments. Despite being an unconscious, naïve young woman, I was completely cared for. If Mohanji could look after me in that state, I have no doubt he is looking after your children, too.
How do I know I’m not imagining all this? The next time I met Mohanji in 2016, he told me himself that he had saved my life several times during my travels.
In Beyond Protection – Part 2, I’ll share how Mohanji continued to protect me during my travels in India.
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|| JAI BRAHMARISHI MOHANJI ||
Edited & Published by – Testimonials Team, 13th November 2025
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