35053668-Empire-of-the-Soul-Paul-William-Roberts

‘MEDITATE MORE AND FIND OUT’
Standing up, he could have been Peter Lorre’s son. Both eyes
looked off to the side, adding to the impression that he wasn’t certain
that I was there, that he was there, that it wasn’t all a dream. Pretending
he hadn’t just woken up, he spoke gibberish and performed menial
and meaningless tasks – dusting the counter, checking his saucersized
wristwatch, and closing the heavy shutters about one-tenth of
an inch. Then he indicated a ledger, handing me a ballpoint pen
from the Sheraton Hotel, Kathmandu. The last entry in this huge
tome read: ‘Maynard Billings, San Diego. A really beautiful stay.’ I
wrote my name and address, assuming it was premature to comment.
‘Mr. Billing,’ the man said, pointing at the previous entry with
swaggering pride. ‘He like this place too much. Very good man, Mr
Billing. Very good. You know him?’
I confessed I did not.
‘You want room, is it?’
On one wall hung a framed photograph of Sathya Sai Baba, the
local holy man, looking like Jimi Hendrix’s grandfather. A garland
of flowers placed around it perhaps a week before gave the image a
funereal appearance.
‘You come for bhagavan?’ asked the concierge, noticing my
interest in the picture. ‘Bhagavan’ means God, basically, but in India,
where all that lives, and much that is inanimate, is holy, it is a term
liberally applied to gurus, yogis, sadhus, film stars, musicians,
teachers, and even politicians. I had indeed come to Bangalore
ostensibly to see the famous ‘Man of Miracles,’ Bhagavan Sri Sathya
Sai Baba.
‘Currently out of station,’ the concierge informed me.
‘Where?’
‘Puttaparthi going.’
Sai Baba, I knew, generally stayed near Bangalore, but had his
main ashram in the village of Puttaparthi, in Andhra Pradesh, where
he was born. Puttaparthi was notoriously difficult to get to, I’d been
told, at least a day’s journey away.
I did not want to give this sleepy man the satisfaction of seeing I
was disappointed. ‘Any other gurus in the area?’
He pondered the question seriously, as if I’d asked him to
recommend a good local restaurant. I assumed this was a preamble
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