Page 17 of The Love Thief
Oh geez , I thought. This sounds like the equivalent of a Hindu fairy tale.
A river is a Goddess who came down from heaven to be born from a glacier?
Despite the makeshift pillow, my butt was going numb from the very hard floor.
I shifted my weight to find a more comfortable position and turned my attention back to Sadhviji.
She stopped for a moment as if to give me time to take it all in.
I could feel my chest relax at the thought of the river’s healing powers.
Could she really wash away my sorrows as Sadhviji promised?
Before I could fantasize further about jumping headfirst into the Ganga, she continued, “Her riverbanks are lined with rocks, softened and smoothed by Her waters, large ones upon which one can sit for hours, medium-sized ones that fit perfectly in the palm of one’s hand, for holding and meditating upon, and small pebbles, one or two collected by the pious so that Mother Ganga may flow through their home as well.
“Where the river ends and people’s lives begin is impossible to discern.
Ganga is as inextricable from the lives of Indians as the very blood flowing through their veins.
Whether She is a source of tangible water for daily drinking, bathing, and cooking, or whether She is a source of intangible inspiration and liberation prayed to with each morning’s bath in innumerable cities across the world, She is fundamental to the lives of more than one-seventh of the world’s population.
“When I first arrived in Rishikesh, in 1996, at the tail end of the monsoon season, Her waters were still high, but the mesmerizing fury of Her flow at its peak had subsided.
She was full but gentle. Rushing, flowing, tumbling off rocks and high riverbanks but clear again in the autumn after months of carrying high mountain silt.
“I do not remember whether I had even removed my shoes and put my feet into Her waters when She swept up my soul. Instantaneously, my life was Hers. Tears of having come home, tears of being in the presence of Truth, tears of witnessing the divinity, it all poured from my eyes the moment I beheld Her. ‘Please heal me of all of my pain and suffering. Just let me stay here on Your banks forever,’ I had whispered, and I knew the prayer had been granted even before I asked. She carried my life in Her waters and bestowed it upon me the moment I arrived.”
OMG. Did she just say the river healed her pain? Did I hear that or imagine it? And what kind of pain is she talking about anyway?
My mind raced with possibilities, and I barely listened to what came next.
“She has gifted me with waters in which to bathe my body, waters in which to rinse stale thoughts and patterns from my mind, and waters in which my soul has tastes of reuniting with the Source. I have heard from She who is within me , answering questions I’ve asked and questions I have not yet asked.
As a mother, She provides for all life and livelihood for those who depend upon Her as their source of existence; inspiration and liberation for those who meditate upon Her; and spiritual connection to those who invoke Her name in their daily bath across the world. ”
Sadhviji took a sip of water from her metal cup.
The room was quiet as we all pondered the birth of the Ganga story.
As if reading my mind, Sadhviji then looked directly at me and said, “Holly, and all of you, if you desire to have the healing and blessings of Mother Ganga, remember that She is the divine purifier who washes away the ignorance, the illusions, and the chains that bind us to our false identities.
But She can only do that if we let Her! So, find time each day to sit by Her banks and give yourself permission to let go.
“Let go of that which is holding you back and binding you to your suffering. The highest goal of the spiritual path is freedom. Mother Ganga gives us this ultimate liberation, ultimate freedom if we are prepared to let go of our attachment to our drama, to our stories, to our temporary, finite identities. Holly, the chains that bind you are in your own mind. Sit in Mother Ganga’s lap and give yourself permission to let them go.
You, and everyone who is here, have been called here to Rishikesh, to Mother Ganga’s holy banks, to accept the invitation of the divine universe to wake up, to open your petals to the light, to experience the true freedom of yourself.
“As you sit on Her banks, allow yourself with each exhalation to just let go, breathe out the pain, the grudges, the history, and identity. Let Mother Ganga wash over you and through you. Thank you for coming,” she said as she joined her hands together in a namaste and gracefully left the room.
I stood up, stretched, and gathered my things, helplessly holding the jacket the kind man had given me without knowing how to return it. He seemed to have disappeared without a trace. My stomach growled loudly as I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“My name is Kurt.” He smiled, gently taking his jacket out of my arms.
“I’m Holly.” I smiled weakly, suddenly distracted by my hunger pangs.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
A chill ran down my spine. Was it that obvious?
Before I could answer, he continued. “Sometimes the participants are invited to enjoy dinner there and tonight is one of those nights,” he said enthusiastically.
“It is by far the best food in all of Rishikesh! They grow all their products organically at the ashram’s local farm. ”
“I’m in!” I nearly shouted, hoping it was as good as he said it would be.
Did I just manifest a free dinner? I wondered to myself.
Or did this man somehow intuit I was in need of food and then make this kind offer?
Or was this just a coincidence, or maybe synchronicity?
Once again, I found myself thinking of my mom and her influence on me after all.
Perhaps, she was right, and there was something to believing in a power larger than ourselves.
Kurt led me into the dining hall, where he seemed to know everybody.
Dinner was served from big pots and ladled onto a round silver plate divided into several sections.
I could identify the rice, dahl, and chapatis, but the two other veggie-looking dishes were a mystery.
Kurt dug out a saltshaker from his backpack and offered it to me.
“It’s the world’s best Himalayan pink salt and has magical healing properties in it,” Kurt explained. I wasn’t sure if he was serious, but I used a few shakes anyway. Healing properties or not, the food was surprisingly tasty and felt nourishing.
Kurt told me he was an explorer, blogger, author, and a seeker of wisdom, and that he spent six weeks each year in Rishikesh taking various yoga trainings. Attending aarti and satsang were part of his daily program.
Using his chapati as a little food shovel, he asked me what type of yoga I did before stuffing food in his mouth.
“I’m more of a hiking or running or stand-up paddleboarding girl than a yoga type,” I explained.
“It’s not that I am against spiritual practices like yoga or meditation.
In fact, I once tried meditation, but it made me anxious.
I discovered at some point that my true form of meditation is dreaming up new recipes and testing them out! ”
“How did you end up in Rishikesh?” he asked innocently.
I inhaled slowly, then explained my trip was research for my career as a chef with my recent focus on Indian comfort food.
I left out details about Barry and the car accident, but I told him enough to satisfy his curiosity.
Besides, it might have been difficult for him to understand why someone like me could have come to Rishikesh of all places.
“Kurt, thank you for letting me sit on your jacket during the satsang. The moment before you handed it to me, I was thinking about how sore my skinny butt was getting and finding it hard to concentrate,” I said to him with a grateful smile.
“Well, Holly, welcome to Rishikesh. This is what is ‘normal’ here. The power of manifestation is amplified in Rishikesh. It’s literally manifestation on steroids! The Universe grants your wishes and desires, sometimes even before you know you have them,” he explained with a wink.
“Last year I arrived in Rishikesh after flying for twenty hours and I was totally exhausted. I went to my hotel room, which was a big disappointment, and fell dead asleep. The next morning I was debating whether or not to change hotels but couldn’t decide.
On my way to a café for breakfast, I ran into a woman I had once met in a local yoga class.
She excitedly told me that she had just bought a hotel with rooms that had great views of the river.
She asked if I’d like to see it and consider staying there.
“The moment she took me into a room on the third floor, I was hooked. It was perfect for me, with an expansive view of the Ganges and a super comfortable bed. In fact, I became a certified yoga instructor and now consider this my home away from home.”
He made it all sound so easy. Feeling a familiar sense of impatience, I tried to imagine what it must have felt like for him to find his passion.
I, too, yearned to feel at home. Somewhere.
Anywhere. As Kurt took a step toward me, a warm sensation overcame me as if he were bathing me in some kind of energetic wave of unconditional love.
I had noticed that same vibe at the satsang.
It felt unfamiliar and yet comforting at the same time.
“Meditation is something I have been doing since I was in the ninth grade,” he said casually.
“My mom suggested that it would help me with my game. Never did make it to the NBA, but it has helped me in so many ways to live the life of my dreams.” Kurt paused for a moment as I tried to absorb what he was saying.
“Some things you can’t change, like your height.
In my case, I couldn’t compete with the taller basketball players, so I shifted gears, went to college, got an MBA, and even worked successfully on Wall Street for a while.
Sounds like a picture-perfect life, right?
” Kurt tossed his head back as he laughed heartily.
Before I could respond, he continued, “At some point, I realized nothing would make me happy until I was willing to take a chance. India taught me that.”
Willing to take a chance? Hadn’t I done that with Barry? The lump in my throat swelled as I tried to finish my food. Kurt smiled warmly as he turned his attention to his plate. We ate the rest of our meal in silence.
After dinner, Kurt volunteered to walk me over the bridge and back to my hotel.
He explained that while Rishikesh was relatively safe, his mama had taught him to be a true gentleman, and he was happy to escort me and provide any protection necessary.
Secretly, I was glad. I didn’t tell him I had been worried about walking home alone under a moonless sky dodging random cows, stray dogs, chattering monkeys, and potentially scary street people.
I was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, someone up there was looking out for me.
I even had this crazy random thought that perhaps I could fix Kurt up with Mom someday.
They would, at the very least, be kindred spirits.
Before I got into bed, I decided to pull out the journal Mom had given me and make a few notes about what had been my best day in a very long time.
I was grateful for the time spent with Divya and the beauty and serenity of my walk along the Ganga under the warm sun.
The aarti ceremony was surprisingly moving and meaningful, and I realized that Sadhviji’s Satsang, and the meal with Kurt, had me feeling something close to hopeful.
Everyone struggles in some way. It wasn’t as if I was the only one who had had to overcome disappointment in this world.
My ongoing feelings of anger, despair, and fear of the future, at least for this day, had nearly abated.
Perhaps it was because all of my senses were engaged, I had spent the day taking in new information, sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and experiences, and there just hadn’t been room for me to dwell in the pity party that had become my new normal.
I decided in the morning, I would figure out a daily routine that would have me up and out of bed with a sense of purpose and passion instead of just hoping to randomly figure out how to fill the time when I wasn’t in cooking school.
Misery level: 3. Progress!