Abandoned roads - Jos Lammers

circles, just like the songs. The microphones cracked, the
followers sang, the sun burned and the mahatmas praised
our luck because the road to eternal bliss was right in front
if us. For three days without end, sometimes in English but
mostly in Hindi.
At the end of the third day Maharaj ji came. First, unexpectedly
even so, some American followers that were part
of his own security service, the World Peace Corps, walked
onto the stage. With decent suits and sturdy faces. People
nudged each other. Then he came. Everybody bowed deep
to the ground. At this distance I couldn’t see him very well,
but his face seemed to beam with light to me, like smiling
babies sometimes have. I understood he was constantly
one with the divine sound within and permanently stoned
on nectar. So that’s how that looked. I again bowed in the
dust. He sat down on the throne. One of the mahatmas put
a garland around his shoulders and kissed his feet. The
microphone cracked. “Dear premies 2 ”. His voice sounded
young, but with the peace of mind of a wise, old man. “You
have come a long way.” Around me, Western followers looked
at each other, moved. That was true! And he spoke to
us! “Give the reins of your life to me and I will bring you
salvation.” “Oh, my lord”, someone whispered next to me.
Then Maharaj ji switched to Hindi.
2 ‘Premies’ sounds like ‘premmies’, is Hindi for ‘the ones that love’
and the name to indicate followers of Maharaj ji.
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