Do You Know The Aim of Life - ' The Guru Business - The New York Times

16/01/2020 ‘Do you know the aim of life?
’; The guru business - The New York Times
https://nyti.ms/1HiKJ67
ʻDo you know the aim of life?ʼ;

The guru business
By Khushwant Singh
April 8, 1973
See the article in its original context from

April 8, 1973, Page 34 Buy Reprints
New York Times subscribers* enjoy full access to

TimesMachine—view over 150 years of New
York Times journalism, as it originally appeared.
SUBSCRIBE
*Does not include Crossword-only or

Cooking-only subscribers.
About the Archive

This is a digitized version of an article from The Times’s print archive, before the start of online
publication in 1996. To preserve these articles as they originally appeared, The Times does not alter,
edit or update them.
https://www.nytimes.com/1973/04/08/archives/the-guru-business-do-you-know-the-aim-of-life.html 1/12
16/01/2020 ‘Do you know the aim of life?’; The guru business - The New York Times
Occasionally the digitization process introduces transcription errors or other problems; we are
continuing to work to improve these archived versions.
BOMBAY. The Delhi headquarters of the Divine Light Mission is like a fortress: an 8-foot-
high wall with an iron-grilled gate encloses a courtyard and a complex of buildings
consisting of offices, reception rooms, kitchen, refectory, dormitories, a temple and the
residential suite of Balyogeshwar, the Child God.
“God is great but greater is Guru because He reveals God” runs the legend on the poster
adorning the gatekeeper's shack. I enter my name, address, profession and purpose in the
visitors’ book. The gatekeeper asks me to wait and takes the book indoors for scrutiny.
A stocky man with a shawl wrapped about his shoulders emerges and introduces himself as
the personal private secretary of Shri Guru Maharaj ji, the title by which devotees refer to
Balyogeshwar. He leads me through an office where three American girls in white saris sit
on the floor hammering away on their typewriters. The reception room is furnished with
sofas and chairs. An armchair with multicolored cushions is set apart from the others. There
is a projector on one side; a portable screen facing it on the other. In a niche above the sofa
on which I am told to sit are two large pictures of Balyogeshwar. One bears the message,
“Maharaj ji, Light of Lights”; the other asks: “Do you know the aim of life?”
Balyogeshwar's Divine Light Mission is only one of the innumerable religious organizations
that proliferate in the country. There are many other self-styled bhagwans (gods), swamis
(lords), rishis (sages), maharishis (great sages), acharyas (teachers) and sants (saints)
and gurus who have larger followings. It is not possible to make an estimate of the number
of their followers because wildly exaggerated claims are made by each holy man. But it can
be assumed that most religious Hindus and Sikhs (together making 85 per cent of the
population of India) and some Moslems, Christians and Parsis as well, pay homage to one
living saint or the other whom they regard as God incarnate.
Balyogeshwar's private secretary goes out and comes back. He tells me that Shri Guru
Maharaj ji is busy. There has been a spot of trouble with Customs. On the guru's return from
a world tour last November, accompanied by 400 foreign devotees, U.S. currency and goods
with a total value of $27,000 were seized from the entourage.
Tea and cookies are served. I ask the private secretary how he came to join the mission and
what it has meant to him.
“I belonged to a family of Brahmin priests attached to the Court of Maharajahs of Kashmir.

Although I was brought up in a religious atmosphere, I did not find any satisfaction in
temple ritual and chanting mantras (sacred words endowed with magical properties]. I was
looking for a guru who could give me real knowledge. Someone gave me the address of an
ashram (hermitage] in Hardwar. Although I was only 16 when I arrived there, I knew I had
found the one I had been seeking. This was our present Maharaj ji's father. I attached myself
to his lotus feet and served him till the day he left his body on July 19, 1966. Now I serve the
new Guru Maharaj ji. I have dedicated my life to the mission.”
At 32, Sampurnanand holds the senior position in the hierarchy of the Divine Light Mission.
Apart from being personal secretary to Balyogeshwar, he is a mahatma (great soul) in his
own right. Though celibacy is not compulsory, Mahatma Sam purnanand and almost 1,000
others who have likewise dedicated their lives to the spread of Divine Light keep
themselves free of family entanglements.
“What is your estimate of the following of your mission?” I ask.
“In the world? About four million spread over 63 countries. It is catching on like wildfire.”
“And so it should,” remarks another, taking up the thread. “I have been with the holy family
since I was this much,” he says, lowering the palm of his hand to knee level. “I was at Prem
Nagar (Town of Love) ashram in Hardwar when our Guru Maharaj ji was born on Dec. 10,
1957. I remember his father saying, ʻThis child will be the world's greatest saint. There has
never been one so great as he; there never will be.’” This is Bihari Singh, who has been
chauffeur in the family. It is hard to tell his age as his hair and mustache are dyed jet black
and his eyes sparkle with enthusiasm.
More people slip in and sit quietly on the floor. Among them are some white foreigners.
Before I can talk to them, all eyes turn expectantly toward the door. Two men hold the
curtains on either side. Balyogeshwar makes his entrance.
The name given to him at birth was Pratap Singh Rawat. When he succeeded his father as
head of the Divine Light Mission, he came to be known both as Balyogeshwar (Child God)
and Shri Guru Maharaj ji. He is a little over 15. He is the youngest of a family of five,
consisting of three brothers and a married sister. His late father, generally regarded as the
founder of the mission, is alluded to by his full title: Yogiraj (King of Yogis) Param Sant
(First and Supreme Saint) Satgurudev (True Worshipful Teacher) Shri Hansji Maharaj.
Balyogeshwar's mother is adaressed as Shri Mataji (Revered Holy Mother). She is a buxom,
goodlooking woman with chocolate-brown complexion and high cheekbones. She blushes as
easily as she smiles. Her row of sparkling teeth are outdone in their luster only by the
diamonds in her nose and ears. Balyogeshwar resembles his mother. He has the same dark
brown, smooth, mahogany skin, with slanting eyes and a tendency to fatness. He looks a
brown cherub. His hair is well oiled. He wears a black waistcoat over a starched white shirt,
white pajamas and ankle-high Western boots. As he enters, the devotees go down on their
knees and press their foreheads on the floor. He takes the cushioned armchair.
He looks uncomfortable, fidgets and eyes me with suspicion. He has had his fill of journalists
questioning him about his brush with Customs.
“I came for your darshan [the blessing which flows from the sight of a saintly person],” I say
Hindi. “I read in American and English papers that your tour was a great success.”
He smiles. His narrow eyes close when he does so.
“Will you be going abroad again?”
The smile freezes; the look of suspicion comes back. I realize I have committed a faux pas:
the police have impounded his passport. I quickly make amends. “I believe your English
disciples gave you a Rolls-Royce.”
He smiles again. I cash in on the changed mood. “I've read a lot about your holiness, but I
haven't discovered why your father chose you instead of your elder brothers to be his
successor.”
“I can tell you that,” he replies, leaning back in his armchair. “I was only 8 when the late
Maharaj ji left his body. I was at school in Dehra Dun. The chauffeur came to fetch me. I
went home. Everyone was weeping. I was just sitting there, not weeping. Something began
to happen to me. I began to feel that I am not this body; that I could not move these lips.” He
points to his lips. “I always thought that the soul would leave by the mouth, but my mouth
was shut. Still, I felt I was leaving my body and my soul was everywhere going out. And this
voice came to me saying: ʻYou are he, you are the one to continue.’” He pauses and looks
around to see what impact his words have made on his audience. They are listening with
rapt attention. Some have shut their eyes as if meditating. Somebody pushes a tape recorder
nearer his feet. He continues: “I puzzled over this voice. Thirteen days later, when I was
going to immerse my father's ashes in the Ganges, the voice came again: ʻYou are he. You
are the one to go and give this to the world.’ I didn't want to be Satguru. I would have been
satisfied to be a mischievous little boy. But the late Maharaj ji had left a letter in which
obeisances to his youngest. So they crowned me with the crown of Rama and Krishna and
put the saffron mark of succession on my forehead.”
A few days later Balyogeshwar spoke at a condolence meeting. He said, “Dear children of
God, why are you weeping? The Perfect Master never dies. Maharji ji is here among you
now. Recognize him, obey him, and worship him.”
It is obvious he has made this speech many times. His words are well chosen. His Hindi is
impeccable. His manner of delivery and the gestures he makes are those of an accomplished
orator. He pauses to heighten expectation before he delivers the punch line. He tells me how
on Nov. 8, 1970, before a million devotees gathered in Delhi, he announced his plan to take
the message to foreign lands and thus “explode the Peace Bomb.”
Though his eyes are focused on me, he is addressing everyone in the room, and perhaps an
unseen multitude beyond.
“Why do people come to you? What do they get from you?” I ask him.
“Why do people come to me?” he asks, repeating my question. “They come to me because
they are unhappy, restless. They want peace. What do they get from me? They get this
knowledge that I have.”
“Knowledge? What knowledge? Do you give them the guru mantra [the sacred formula
whispered by a guru in the ear of the disciple on initiation]?”
“I give them the maha [great] mantra,” he says emphatically. “I tell them of the true aim of
human life. It is not to eat, drink and be merry; it is realization, the true realization of God.”
“Surely it is for everyone to make his own equation with himself and with God. Why must a
person have a guru?”
“Why must a person have a guru? Because without a guru no one can achieve salvation.”
Seeing I am a Sikh, he quotes the Sikh scriptures to me: “Were a hundred moons to rise and
a thousand suns as well, without the guru the world would still be in utter darkness.” He
likes to illustrate his points with parables. He breaks into English: “Divine knowledge is like
money in a bank. It is my money. I have the checkbook. But only after I write on that check
and sign it can you draw the money. See?” His English is not very good. He speaks it with an
American accent.
“One of your posters says Guru is greater than God. This would be considered blasphemous
by Jews, Christians, Moslems and many others.”
“The guru is the only one who can open the third eye through which a person can see divine
light. The guru is the only one who can give the word. It is the same word which the Bible
speaks of: In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was
God.” Having said that, he quickly corrects himself; “I am not God; I am only His servant.”
THE dialogue becomes a little confused. At one time he says the preacher is more important
than the Bible — apparently equating the preacher with the guru; then retracts the
statement and says that the function of the guru is exactly what the word means. It is
composed of two syllables: gu meaning dark and ru meaning light—therefore, one who
dispels darkness and gives light.
“The world is turning against God,” I tell him. “In Russia and other Communist countries,
they have abolished religion.”
“The world is not so much turning against God as toward materialism,” he corrects me.
“One may deny God, but no one can abolish Him. It is like refusing to see that a man has two
legs, a goat has four. Really, these materialistic things can give us very little satisfaction.
Suppose I want to sit on a chair and I am not getting a chair. I am frustrated. As soon as I
get a chair, I will feel some satisfaction of mind. But then I will need a table, then a pad over
it, then pen and ink, then my name on that pad, and so on goes the extension of the mind.”
“I am an agnostic,” I interrupt him. “I don't believe or disbelieve in God. I simply say, ʻI

don't know.’ What is more, I don't think whether there is or there is not a God is very
important in human affairs. There are many people like me.”
“Are you not seeking for something?” he asks.
“No.”
“Then why are you here?” he asks, pointing his finger at me.
“Because I am curious.”
“Curious? Curiosity is a vacuum. You have a vacuum in your mind and want to fill it. That's
why you have come to see me.” He snaps his thumb and finger triumphantly.
“No! Curiosity is my profession. I am a journalist. I have come to see you to find out what
you have to say and what your followers get out of you.”
An uneasy silence pervades the room. One of the foreigners breaks in. “I, too, was an
agnostic once. But I knew I was missing something. Then I came to the Guru Maharaj ji and
he gave me this knowledge.”
“What knowledge?” I ask the young man.
Bob Misheler is a thin, pale, flaxen-haired, gray-eyed youth who was teaching yoga in
Denver. He tells me of his disappointment with the Protestant faith and how agnosticism
had left a void in his heart. It was only when he met Guru Maharaj ji and was given
knowledge that he found a sense of fulfillment.
I don't understand what the word knowledge means to these people. I turn to another young
man. He is Gary Girard from Los Angeles. He was Jewish. “My search brought me to India,”
he says. “I became a sadhu and walked barefoot on dusty roads along the Ganges from one
place of pilgrimage to another. I did not find what I was looking for. Then I met Guru
Maharaj ji. He gave me this knowledge.”
The knowledge continues to elude me. So does the quest. I thank Balyogeshwar for sparing
an hour for me. He stands up. His devotees make obeisance. He smiles, nods a farewell and
walks out.
The Divine Light Mission has been attracting attention from the press since Balyogeshwar
started going abroad two years ago. Since his embroilment with the Indian Customs, he has
been exposed to a lot of adverse publicity. Demands have been made in the Indian
Parliament that he be arrested. So far, his admireds (who include many members of
Parliament) have been able to protect him. But he may have to pay a heavy fine.
Though there is nothing new in the teachings of Balyogeshwar or any other of the god-men,
they have received a lot of coverage in the Indian press because of what has appeared about
them in the European and the American papers. Recognition abroad helps recognition at
home. “Going to Phoren” (Foreign) has become a part of the Indians’ one-upmanship; god-
men are no exception. And foreign devotees have become an important status symbol. They
are paraded before the Indians as proof positive that at long last the materialistic West is
turning to spiritual India for guidance.
The techniques recommended by Balyogeshwar and other god-men are the same as
preached by gurus over the centuries. First comes the initiation. Once the neophyte is
considered fit to be enrolled, Balyogeshwar gives him the diksha (spiritual gift) of a sacred
mantra whispered in the ear. This may be just one word, like the name of one of the gods,
Rama or Krishna, or a verse—“Repeat the name of Shiva and your difficulties will be
resolved.” This is the guru mantra, the secret bond between guru and disciple which must
never be divulged. The devotee must thereafter meditate in absolute silence and still his
wavering mind by repeating the guru mantra to himself. He should focus his inner vision on
a spot between the eyes above the nose and regulate his breathing. The practice is designed
to open the mystic third eye through which divine light comes flooding in. It can be a long
process. But some gurus like Maharishi Mahesh Yogi (one-time guru of the Beatles) claim to
have evolved a mode of instant meditation. The Mahesh Yogi's technique is discounted by
most practitioners of the art.
Most gurus (not Balyogeshwar) recommend practices in which the disciple can drop his or
her inhibitions and let himself go. Although drugs and drink are forbidden, chanting, singing
and dancing that produce a sense of euphoria leading to a trance are approved. At some of
these seances, disciples discard their clothing, shriek, leap about wildly and pass out.
When he feels his end is near, a guru nominates a successor. In Indian religious terminology
this is “as one-lamp lights another.” The man chosen is usually the closest disciple. But when
money or property (ashrams, temples, land and houses) are involved, it is not unusual for
the father to name his son (as in the case of Shri Guru Maharaj ji) or relative and thus keep
the guruship and the property in the family. Disputes about succession result in schisms and
often come up before courts of law.
MOST successful gurus maintain large establishments with boarding and lodging facilities
for hundreds—in some places, thousands—of visitors. In Northern India many have their
headquarters somewhere along the holy Ganges and other residences in the cities. Thus
Balyogeshwar has his Prem Nagar ashram at Hardwar where the river enters the plains,
another at Delhi and smaller centers scattered over the country and abroad. The Delhi
ashram can accommodate more than 100 men and women; its kitchen can on special
occasions feed up to 50,000 visitors a day. The lavish use of marble, wall-towall carpets,
chandeliers and modern furnishings are clear evidence of affluence. Balyogeshwar lives
well. Some other gurus live even better. Maharishi Mahesh Yogi (who claims a following of
100,000 disciples) travels by helicopter; Shri Satya Sai Baba has a cavalcade of cars
following him wherever he goes. I asked Balyogeshwar's secretary where the money came
from “Mostly in offerings from Indian devotees,” he maintains. Some god-men have
acquired wealthy patrons. Swami Prabhupada Bhaktivedanta of the International Society of
Krishna Consciousness counts India's richest lady, Sumati Morarji, head of the country's
largest shipping firm, among his patrons. In Satya Sai Baba's clientele are many
industrialists. Maharishi Mahesh Yogi had the Beatles, Mia Farrow and many others; unlike
other god-men he charges $30 for initiation. Balyogeshwar also has a considerable foreign
following mainly in the United States. A dollar goes a long way in India.
Tradition requires that a devotee give body (tan), mind (man) and worldly wealth (dhan) to
his guru. Indians give more generously of the first two; foreigners contribute a lion's share
of the third. A good example is the Gurudev (guru god) Muktananda's ashram at
Ganeshpuri.
Ganeshpuri is only 50 miles from Bombay but a thousand miles from the city's noise and
stench. It lies in a broad valley ringed by forested hills. The 30-acre ashram has a large
marble temple. A solid silver railing demarcates the altar, which has a black marble statue
of Swami Nityananda, founder of the order. A massive silver chest, one side made of glass, is
crammed with currency. Pilgrims come from Bombay and Ahmedabad by the busload, do
obeisance to the statue, thrust coins and notes in the box and sing hymns.
The ashram's dormitories, library and meditation rooms have marble walls, carpets and
cushions. Gurudev Muktananda's reception room is air-conditioned and paneled with teak;
his own couch is covered with brocade. There are modern-style bungalows for visitors, a
kitchen garden, a rose garden and an orchard. The ashram's elephant, a handsome animal,
named Swami Vijayananda, turns up his trunk at fodder and has developed a taste for
apples and imported chocolate. There are 180 devotees living in the ashram, half of them
Indian, the other half foreign, mainly Americans.
Like other gurus, Gurudev Muktananda has centers abroad and has made several trips to
foreign countries. He receives me in his air-conditioned reception room and honors me by
wrapping an expensive Kashmir shawl around my shoulders. In the afternoon he gives me
an audience in one of the meditation rooms and invites four of his foreign disciples, three
Americans and one French, man, to join us.
Gurudev Muktananda is from Mangalore. He can speak Hindi and Marathi but no English.
“Why do people come to you?” I ask him in Hindi.
“For different reasons. Some are unhappy, some disturbed. Some curious.”
“What do they get?”
“Peace of mind. Through meditation they learn how to know themselves and God, who is in
every one of us.”
LATER in the day I get hold of the disciples alone. It occurs to me that a large proportion are
from affluent Jewish homes. Ellen Berliner, 32, volunteers her own case history. She was
born in Brooklyn. Her father died when Ellen was 6, leaving his widow and three children
well provided for. In college Ellen majored in Oriental philosophy and religions. Her mother
remarried; her younger brother and sister moved away from New York. Ellen remained
single. “I had lots of affairs, but I did not want to marry or have children,” she says. She
found an apartment in Greenwich Village, entertained her friends “on lobster, caviar and
champagne.” She started smoking marijuana at 16 “and smoked it every day. Everyone in
New York does; it's as common as eating hamburgers,” she says. She held several jobs—
editing books and magazines, work ing as a secretary to a woman stock broker and then a
firm of Wall Street lawyers. Neither the high living nor her work gave her any satisfaction.
She took a seven-month vacation in Mexico. It made no difference. Then she heard of
Gurudev Muktananda: “It was on Sept. 18, 1970. A girl told me that the Baba to term of
affection for old men] was a blue person.”
“A blue person?”
“You don't know blue? Blue like Krishna, the incarnation of Vishnu. Well, I went to his
lecture at the Universalist Church on 76th Street at Central Park West. It was raining cats
and dogs, but the place was crammed. Not only young people but also old—sort of my
mother's age and yours. The atmosphere was clean; there were no hippies in the crowd. The
Baba did not impress me: With his dark skin and funny orange cap and dark glasses, I
thought he was a phony. Then he began to speak. I couldn't understand a word of what he
was saying and I wasn't really listening to the translation. But something started to happen
to me.” Ellen pats her head; “Not here,” she says, “but here”—she puts her hand on her
bosom. “I felt Baba knew all the answers to all the questions about life and death. He knew
everything about me. I had heard many gurus including Maharishi Mahesh Yogi; they had
repelled me. But I fell in love with Baba. I knew he was the genuine guru.”
For Ellen Berliner there was no turning back. She went to the Baba's lectures every day and
then spent the weekend at his resort in the Catskills near Woodstock, N.Y. A series of
“miracles” convinced her that she was on the right path. “I was reading Baba's book when I
realized I had not smoked a cigarette for some time: I had been smoking three packs a day. I
went in the temple for the lecture and left my book and the pack of cigarettes in my shoes.
When I came back, the book was there but the pack of cigarettes was gone. Obviously
stolen, but it struck me as kind of funny. When I got back to my apartment, I did not want to
eat meat. I had boy friends with whom I used to have sex. I didn't want any either.”
“What's wrong with sex?”
“The body is sustained by sexual energy. If you waste your semen, you deplete your bodily
resources.”
“Rubbish. In any case, what has expending seminal fluid to do with a woman?“
“A woman's body also expends fluids. At least that's what Baba says, and I believe him.
Anyway, I used to think that sex and drugs were the best things in life, and all at once I felt I
had enough of both.”
Ellen continues her tale. “For one week I felt I was floating on Cloud Nine. I would get up at
3 A.M., meditate and chant ʻOm namo Shivaye.’ I worked better in my office than ever
before, but my heart was not in it.”
“When did you actually get to talk to Baba?” I ask, trying to shorten her narrative.
“Yom Kippur, 1970,” she replies, as if it was only yesterday. “Baba was to leave New York for
California. I took him some chocolate and a poster depicting a tiny kitten between the paws
of a huge lion—tiny me in the grip of the big Baba. I told him: ʻTake me, I am yours.’ He put
down his dark glasses and just grunted:ʻHm!” His eyes pierced down to my heart and he
said: ʻYou have to come to Ganeshpuri.’ I knew I had been accepted. It was the happiest
moment of my life.”
Ellen had many debts to pay off and no money in her bank. The Baba read her thoughts.
“Don't worry. God will take care of you and you'll soon be in Ganeshpuri.”
Another series of “miracles” took place. People who had borrowed money from her years
before suddenly paid up. On her birthday (Oct. 14), her friends gave her cash—nearly $1,000
—instead of presents; even a grandmother gave her a check. She handed over her
apartment with all its furniture, rugs, color TV and stereo to her one remaining creditor. She
packed a few belongings, managed to get her visa and took the plane to India. “My mother
said I was crazy giving up a $175-a-week job for some phony guru. She said I'd be back in six
months, asking to be taken back. I've been at Ganeshpuri for over two years. I never want
to go back.” Ellen Berliner has become a full-fledged disciple with a Hindu name, Uma.
I asked her how the ashram was run. “We pay for our keep. We are about 80 foreigners,
mostly American. Not many Indians can afford to pay, but some rich Indians give donations.
Most foreigners pay for their keep. I turn in my $170 a month [from her inheritance]. If I
paid him $10-milhon a month, it would not be enough. But chere is this French girl, Marie
Coulon. Her father is a gendarme. She doesn't have a sou; she doesn't pay. But money is no
problem.”
“One last question. Why didn't you give your own faith a trial?”
Ellen Berliner's tone becomes agitated. “Judaism? I did give it a trial. There is not a spark of
living God left in it; only a lot of meaningless tradition perpetrated by old rabbis. The Jewish
religion should have reformed itself.”
THE life story of 28-year-old Judy Alexander, renamed Chandra, is very much the same.
Judy is a Pennsylvanian of Jewish parentage. She inherited a large fortune from her
grandmother. For a time she did social work in Florida, but like Ellen found no sense of
fulfillment in her job or her way of living. She, too, smoked pot and took drugs and, being
pretty, she had no dearth of boy friends. It was through her steady date that she came in
contact with Oriental cults. Her friend had become a disciple of Shri Satya Sai Baba. Judy
went to Bombay, but instead of going south to Puttaparathi where the Sai Baba lives, she fell
in with disciples of Gurudev Muktananda. She arrived at Ganeshpuri two weeks after Ellen
Berliner.
“What do you get out of all this?” I ask her.
“I am at peace with myself. I have never been happier.” Her eyes sparkle as she talks.
“Peace never produced anything worthwhile; it is the restless agitation of the mind that
produced the great works of art, music, poetry and science. All were products of tortured
minds.”
“We give the best of what we have. We can't all be Michelangelos and Beethovens.”
“This meditation seems to be a kind of selfish indulgence and a waste of time. I'd rather
read a good book. I'd rather sleep than keep awake in lotus pose with my eyes closed.”
“Why don't you try it? It is hard to explain what it does—just as hard as it is to explain to a
person who has never eaten chocolate what chocolate tastes like. Try it out,” she repeats.
“Come to stay in the ashram for a few days.”
“I'll find pretty girls like you very distracting.”

Do You Know The Aim of Life - ' The Guru Business - The New York Times

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

You might also like

Do You Know The Aim of Life - ' The Guru Business - The New York Times

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Description:

Original Title

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Do You Know The Aim of Life - ' The Guru Business - The New York Times

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

16/01/2020 ‘Do you know the aim of life?

’; The guru business - The New York Times

ʻDo you know the aim of life?ʼ;

See the article in its original context from

New York Times subscribers* enjoy full access to

*Does not include Crossword-only or

About the Archive

“I belonged to a family of Brahmin priests attached to the Court of Maharajahs of Kashmir.

“What is your estimate of the following of your mission?” I ask.

He smiles. His narrow eyes close when he does so.

“Will you be going abroad again?”

“I am an agnostic,” I interrupt him. “I don't believe or disbelieve in God. I simply say, ʻI

“Are you not seeking for something?” he asks.

“What knowledge?” I ask the young man.

“Why do people come to you?” I ask him in Hindi.

“What do they get?”

“What's wrong with sex?”

“What do you get out of all this?” I ask her.

“I'll ﬁnd pretty girls like you very distracting.”

You might also like