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

94
EMPIRE OF THE SOUL
‘Yes, but . . .’ I stopped, because I had the distinct impression that
the answers I was looking for weren’t available. No words from this
yogi were going to explain anything at all.
‘Why do you come here every day?’ I eventually asked.
‘Did you not wish to see this beggar?’
I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. I knew that whatever he was
doing, coming to the bazaar when he did, I would probably not
understand either. I told him I was glad he had spared some time to
talk to me. Once more he laughed uproariously.
‘Can I give you anything?’ I inquired.
This got a chuckle, too. Then he said, ‘This beggar needs nothing.
God gives him what he deserves . . . but he deserves nothing really
– is it not?’
I held out my pack of cigarettes. He laughed, looking at it as if
observing something about it that I couldn’t see. Then, almost coyly,
he took a cigarette. I told him to keep the whole pack, but he bluntly
refused, looking somewhat embarrassed.
Then I asked about the holy mountain, Arunachala, and why it
was holy. He seemed baffled, reluctant to answer. I asked if there
was any cosmic advantage in walking to its summit. There usually
is with holy mountains. Quite forcefully, he replied that it was better
to walk around it.
‘Around it?’
‘Good exercise – is it not so?’ he said.
‘Which direction?’
This clearly did not matter. I thanked him, feeling I’d overstayed
my welcome, and asked if I could come back tomorrow.
‘Why would you want to see this filthy old beggar again?’
‘I like this filthy old beggar.’
‘Oh! Oh!’ He sighed, grasping my hands. ‘God is too good to
this old beggar.’
‘Does Indira Gandhi have an aura of protection?’ I asked, standing
to leave.
‘What God wills must be so – is it not?’
‘Is she a client of yours?’ Client seemed as good a term as any.
‘What use is a filthy old beggar to a queen?’
It was an odd reply, one I thought about often in the years ahead.