By Michael Draper, UK
It’s been nearly three weeks since my return to the UK from the Mohanji Village at Kumbh Mela, and my muse has been returned by Mohanji so I can write about some of my experiences at this 144-year (not even a once-in-a-generation) universal event. It’s fair to say that for the last three weeks, my energy has been flat. I’ve found myself sleeping—a lot—and seemingly have lost my enthusiasm for pretty much everything—Jenny and meeting up with the Mohanji family online, excepted.
Okay, I’ve had a peak experience, and in returning to the ‘normal’ UK life, this perhaps was to be expected, but my usual ‘spiritual’ routine just hasn’t been working. Getting up at 4.00 am to chant, etc., was a distant memory – for speakers of Welsh, my ‘hwyl’ or enthusiasm for life had apparently gone absent without leave. A few nights ago, I was woken at 3.00 am by a dream about Mohanji. No words were exchanged. He handed me my iPad. That was it; normal service resumed, hwyl was back, and so here we all are again. Timing, apparently, is everything.
I’ve previously written about my experience of obtaining an entry visa to India. It turned out that the third application was indeed the charm, and I managed to secure a 12-month visa with multiple entry points. Before leaving for India, daily reports from the Mohanji Village on ‘WhatsApp’ proved to be very useful for advance preparation and orientation, although my hopes of sunnier climes leaving behind a British winter were dashed by news that the nights in the Village were pretty cold and some warm clothing was essential.
Jenny made sure I was well prepared in more ways than one. It was clear that without internet access, I would not be able to use my iPad, and I would be forced to take my mobile phone and secure data roaming in advance (thank you, Geetha). I have an on-off relationship with my phone. On for emergencies; otherwise, it stays off. Jenny procured an International SIM card for me. I watched a video on YouTube about how to insert the SIM and use a phone outside of the UK. I acquired new skills and felt prepared. A good start. I was going to Mohanji Village at Maha Kumbh for ten glorious days. It’s fair to say that excitement was tinged with a touch of trepidation.
My airport of entry into India was Mumbai. The first test was immigration. Was I going to be allowed in? In the queue for immigration processing was an elderly gentleman of Indian origin. We started to chat as it was quickly obvious, given our speed of movement, that we would be queue buddies for some time. He lived in the UK, having gained citizenship some years ago, and, music to my ears and soul, he had been to Skanda Vale. Hearing about Skanda Vale in a Mumbai immigration processing queue was, for me, a sign that all was going to be well. It was. I got in. India loved me.
What next? My internal critic prompted me to turn on my mobile phone and engage data roaming. This didn’t work. Repeated pressing and mobile phone whispering didn’t work either. I had promised Jenny I would contact her on landing. Access email. Microsoft froze my email account when some random data centre in the US realised that the account was being operated outside of the UK, so that option was closed. So, I couldn’t call, text, WhatsApp or anything. Engage airport internet as a solution to an increasing problem. I couldn’t get onto the airport internet because it insisted on sending an ‘SMS’ with an internet access code to a phone I couldn’t use. Perhaps India didn’t love me after all.
Work the problem Michael you can solve this. Well, it turned out I couldn’t but a very kind lady sitting behind an airport information desk could. I handed over my phone and she saw a picture of Shirdi Sai Baba that I carry with me. ‘I’m from Shirdi’ she said recognising Baba. I had the feeling that Mohanji and Baba were playing with me. Internet and phone access granted, email account unfrozen, and Jenny contacted. I was back in business.
The next step was to get onto the connecting flight to Prayagraj. Heading for the relevant gate I suddenly realised that a large group of people up ahead looked familiar. It turned out to be a 51-strong group from the Balkans. They also remembered me from the Bosnian Kriya intensive. I was adopted into the Balkan family. Michael became Mihael and I had companionship for the journey ahead to Mohanji Village. I was definitely back in business and India (and the Balkans) did love me after all.
Shortly after landing at Prayagraj, Aishwarya, the Mohanji Village transport angel (there should be a petition organised for her elevation to at least sainthood) had arranged for us to be picked up in a convoy of small bus type vehicles. The answer to the question ‘how is our luggage going to fit in’ was answered Indian style by an inspired use of the roof of the vehicles and every other available space underneath the seats and on our laps.
We had arrived on the 27th of January 2025 – a major bathing date was due to take place on the 29th of January, so we left in convoy, hoping that we would not be prevented from getting vehicular access to Mohanji Village by roadblocks established by the traffic authorities to manage traffic flows. About 10 kilometres from the Village and whilst slowly crawling through what appeared to be the entire population of India we realised that our hope would not be met. We stopped, having managed to cross the main bridge, when roadblocks prevented our further onward passage.
A cry went up from someone on the bus – There’s Rajesh! Inexplicably, Rajesh Kamath appeared within the sea of the Indian population outside the bus. God or Mohanji only knows how. Rajesh was in the right place at the right time, and he guided us to some safe houses where our luggage could be temporarily stored. The rest of our journey would take place on motorbikes. Short of walking for a couple of hours this was the only option. I have not been a passenger on a motorbike. I have not driven a motorbike.
Never in my life has the mantra ‘Sai Ram’ been used with such regularity and with such intensity than on the remaining journey to the Mohanji Village. It’s not just people but cows, goats and every other conceivable living creature that has to be skilly avoided with awareness and sometimes at very short notice (contrary to popular opinion, cows can move at speed) and whilst taking what can only be described as the back-alley ways (not roads) of downtown Prayagraj to arrive at our destination. Never has a safe arrival been more welcome, and what a wonderful welcome there was from the volunteer reception staff. Smiles all around, and there was definitely a bed for me, good company, and all the food I could possibly eat. Divine.
I took to Village life like a fish takes to water. Routine and I are best friends, and with daily programmes mapped out, it felt as if I was back in Prasanthi Nilayam. 5.00 am dips with Mother, Sai Baba Arathi, and a Shiva Homa, all before breakfast served by Kitchen angels and culinary geniuses. Great.
Mohanji returned to the Village a few days after our arrival, and immediately, you could feel a change in the atmosphere as Mohanji was back physically even though his consciousness was always present and evident. Inexplicably as I finish writing this sentence both my PC screens went blank and I feel an energetic sensation at the back of my head as if to say – yes that’s right I am always with you. For the first Satsang I managed to find a seat close to the front of the hall.
Mohanji arrived early to the Satsang hall which was not yet full. During his absence flowers had been placed on the cushion on which he rested his feet whilst being seated to give his Satsang discourses. He spoke to the person assisting him and the flowers were brought to me. Mohanji had seen me, this was more than a usual hello and I was very happy (understatement) to be recognised with the gift of flowers which had served to worship his feet.
The next day Mohanji led a dip to the divine Mother Ganga. I brought with me a large robe with a hood and fleece lining, which is perfect for pre and post dip wearing and keeping warm when out of the water. Normal people used a towel. So, there I was, waiting at the entrance of the Village, wearing my robe. Mohanji arrived, and after lovingly greeting those gathered on an individual basis, he looked at me and said, ‘What are you wearing?’ There was a hint of amusement (the smile on his face gave that away) as well as incredulity. ‘It keeps me warm’, I said – ‘it’s chilly out there’ (my hardy ancestors, whom I was apparently representing and watching the show, were probably grimacing at this point). He pulled the zip of the robe slightly down to reveal his face on a T-shirt that I was wearing underneath. This met with approval. ‘Nice shoes’, Mohanji said later, referring to my all-purpose beach/water aqua shoes. I mentally noted shoes good, robe not so good. I didn’t wear the robe again on a Mohanji dip.
I was fortunate to enter into the divine water of Mother with Mohanji on three separate occasions when we had the blessing of being immersed by Mohanji in Mother Ganga. I asked Mohanji in Satsang what happens when this takes place. Mohanji declined to answer and asked in return what I felt was happening. Mohanji had repeatedly urged us to experience and feel whilst at the Kumbh and not rationalise or think. ‘It felt as if I was being baptised’, I responded. I think this exchange was recorded on video, and others have captured the experience of dipping with Mohanji beautifully, so I will not add anything further.
I had noticed a young lad just outside of the Village entrance. At times he appeared with his sister, sometimes not, but with no obvious parents visible. His smile was beautiful and he won the hearts of many with his joyful nature. He adopted us and his name was Ankush. In Hindu mythology, Ankush is associated with Lord Ganesha, who is often depicted holding an ankush to control obstacles and remove difficulties.
Ankush had a small battered toy truck that he happily pulled on a piece of string. What are you doing? ‘Collecting rubbish’ was his quick reply. Is this a master in disguise I thought? On our next visit to Mother Ganga he joined us. I was walking next to Mohanji and walking next to me on my left was Ankush. I pointed him out to Mohanji. Ankush was apparently fearless and confidently walked with us to Mother. Impressive.
Many have written about the experience of residing in Mohanji Village and its sacred space. Such was the energy in the Village I was (and unusually for me) reluctant to explore outside as I wanted to spend as much time in the space that had been created for us by Mohanji and the team of saint-like volunteers. We know they were challenged at times to the extreme, and they possibly didn’t feel divine on those occasions, but for the ordinary folk in the Village, our experience was made possible because of them and their courage in putting themselves forward to serve. I am not alone in expressing immense gratitude for their service.
When not used for satsangs, the hall was used for multiple purposes including silent sitting (as guided by Mohanji) Mai- Tri and other Acharya led guided processes. The energy in the hall was particularly special, and ‘silent sitting’ is possibly not an adequate description of what was going on but not visible to waking eyes. Possibly a better description would be ‘silent sitting with a full-blown spiritual service or MOT.’ On my first experience of silent sitting I had just closed my eyes when I could feel and sense an invisible being behind me who promptly began ‘working’ on my spine. It was more than just a sensation. I sent out the mental message ‘Whoa – please give me a chance to settle down’ – and thank you.
On the occasion of a guided meditation in the hall, I had started to chant the introductory AUM when my awareness consciousness peeled off from the personality that was Michael, and I was watching the personality undertake the chanting. That personality seemed very ‘thin’ and insubstantial, a construct to engage with the outer world. Note the personality was chanting but not the awareness. I have had this experience in sleep before when I became aware that my personality is sleeping, but I am very awake and active. However, this has not happened during the waking state. In Satsang I asked Mohanji about this experience and he advised that as an individual becomes more settled into silence, the witness consciousness moves forward to assume prominence on a gradual basis. I recall an observation made by Sathya Sai Baba likening this process to that of tadpole transforming into a frog. He equated the tail of the tadpole to the personality or ego of an individual. Sai said if cut off the tail of the tadpole suddenly then the tadpole will die. Allow it to drop off naturally, and the tadpole will be transformed. The frog ultimately receives the divine kiss or blessing and is transformed into a Prince (my extension of the metaphor).
According to the Bible, on the sixth day, humans were created in the image of God. On the sixth day, in Mohanji Village, I developed a hacking cough (along with many others), and inexplicably and very unusually, an eczema-like rash appeared on the palm of my left hand and some of the fingers of my left hand. The child Ankush had been walking on my left-hand side when walking to Mother Ganga. I was also shedding skin from my left hand (these symptoms continued on my return home but, at the time of writing, have now cleared). My right hand was apparently immune to this. The cough did not prevent me from taking a dip at 5.00am and at 12.30 pm, which surprisingly seemed to reduce the cough that I had assumed had been caused by daily extremes in temperature and early morning dips. Cleansing was visibly happening.
The day of departure inevitably arrived. The previous day I had waved goodbye, along with Mohanji, to my adopted Balkan family. We had experienced something precious together and we knew it: ‘Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow’. However love and friendship endures through such sweet sorrow.
A taxi had been organised to take me to the airport by the upgraded from angel to transport Goddess, Aishwarya. I comforted myself that in just less than two weeks I would return for Mohanji’s birthday celebrations. The last face I saw was that of Ankush, I was sitting on the back seat waiting for the taxi to move away when his face appeared unexpectedly at the window looking at me with a beaming smile. A beautiful parting gift. I smiled and waved back.
The assumption was it would take between 1-2 hours to travel the 25 kilometres to the airport. The date of departure was not an important bathing date so no traffic problems were anticipated and indeed the taxi had turned up on time. However, Mohanji and the Tradition had another experience in store for me. 7 hours later, we arrived at the airport with my flight long gone. The authorities had decided to attempt a world record for the longest and most complex traffic jam ever, and they succeeded and then some. I was not carrying water but had a phone. At some point, acceptance of the situation sank in, and it was time for Michael to work on the problem again.
Fortunately, I could contact both Aishwarya and Jenny by WhatsApp from the taxi as trying to contact Indian airlines via phone and internet, etc, was proving impossible. A later flight identified by Aishwarya turned out not to be an option on arrival at the airport. Jenny in the meantime had sensibly organised a flight to Delhi for me the next morning and rearranged my onward flight home from there with a nights stay in a 5 star hotel in Delhi. Incredible. I now had to spend the night at the airport but was not allowed internal access for another three hours. I was going home when others could not find alternative flights.
I was not the only person who had missed flights. Others who had recently arrived were also waiting for taxis, which were delayed by hours, to take them to Prayagraj. I got chatting with a group from Malaysia who turned out to be devotees of Sathya Sai Baba. When they realised I had been in Sai’s physical presence, they bought me tea, and we spent three hours talking about Swami, Mohanji Village, and my experiences at Kumbh Mela. Time passed very quickly.
Eventually I was allowed access into the airport for the night and settled into a chair. Next to me was an Indian gentleman from Kerala who had travelled to Kumbh to be with his Guru in a camp. When he heard the story of what was the last 10 hours he asked me how I could be so patient and accepting of the situation? Is there a choice? I replied. I have to smile at the irony on display at Delhi International Airport. Soldiers armed with automatic weapons stand or sit behind armour plating with gun port holes. On the armour plating, there is a sticker that says: ‘Move on – we don’t answer queries’. No kidding. A sense of humour goes a long way.
I am grateful to Mother, Mohanji, the Masters of the Tradition, the volunteers at Mohanji Village, and the wider Mohani Family for creating a wonderful, divine 144-year experience at Maha Kumbh Mela 2025.
|| JAI BRAHMARISHI MOHANJI ||
Edited & Published by – Testimonials Team, 10th March 2025
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