Abandoned roads - Jos Lammers

early in the morning at the end of the line, I could see
the stage, where the front of the line disappeared, only in
the far distance. Around me people sang ‘The answer my
friend...’ and songs especially written for Maharaj ji (‘The
lord of the universe, has come to us this day’). Others
chattered, or complained about dust, heat and the long
wait that would come for sure because Maharaj ji himself
was not yet to be seen.
I stood there, in my ‘Indian pajamas’, my white meditation
cloth as a veil draped around my head to protect
me from the sun that was no doubt going to be al lot more
fierce later on. I didn’t sing along and I didn’t chatter along.
This was about a confrontation between me and guru
Maharaj ji. This was about surrender. Like when I decided
to become a mission father when I was eleven. Everything
aimed at one thing: the good. After two years of boarding
school with bitchy fathers who had to prepare for that
(‘for a sound further development of his character more
discipline will be necessary’), I only wanted one thing: to
go home. But the desire never disappeared.
After hours of waiting some movement occurred, accompanied
by the mumbled message that Maharaj ji had
arrived. Most Western followers were by then on the festival
grounds and formed a line that I couldn’t see the end
of. The World Peace Corps (WPC) security people walked
alongside with strained gestures, pushing here and there
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