It was 4am in the morning, in the Ashram of the countryside of England. It was cold, and the hens and roosters were sending the dawn the usual wake up call in a strident symphony.The animal world in the sheds of the Ashram was slowly awaking, rising up from the sitting pause of the profound death of the night while men were still lyiing flat on their back, so vulnerable, in the duality of their mortal life. The animal world was tooraising on their limbs, after the half closed sleep of a their unprotected state always threatened by predators and the butcher knife alike…The seat of slaughter, the bed of the murder was indeed the night of the spiritual awakened life

Slowly, shivering silhouettes in saffron cover emerged from the darkened house holding in their hand the galvanized buckets, and soon each silhouette was busy taking away the booty from each animal family ,eggs and milk, bringing it back to the darkened lodgeSoon a gong was heard, a loud, compact and oppressed sound. And lights were switched on, dimmed by the emerging day.Everyone, young men with shaven skulls and fat women, and children with hair still undone by sleep came limply to the middle of the yard, and they assembled around the bricked well. One matron lady began to push the pump and a flow of water stated flowing rhythmically… All of them took some water in the cup of their hands and washed hurriedly they sleepy faces; the impact of the cold water made their skin flush crimson at once in the bite of the frozen water.Some had simple Kashmir shawls of dull grey or brown draped over their body like a blanket, the little ones were kept close to the thighs of the mothers enveloped under the pangs of the shawl, we could see only a little pair of blue eyes and the tiny toe nails coming from under the shawls emerging from the regular leather sandals with one strap on the big toe-nail…

 

Soon the thirty-eight members had finished their morning ablutions and returned to the lodge one by one, like a slow train starting in an empty and grey faded station.The older women stopped pumping, and locked the pump with a key which brutal silver glint clashed with the soft saffron colour of her outfit.Everyone else was sitting in the meditation room; their throat dry from the long night sleep…they waited like cattle would wait for their shepherd to take them to the flush grass and graze in giddy acceptance.It was very cold and as the matron came in, she switched off the light. She closed the door, and switched on the electric heater…She then designated two helpers and told them to follow her to the kitchen.The kitchen had a barren look except for the recently brought inbaskets of eggs and the buckets full with the steaming warm milk of the cows, which had been left on the wooden table.A huge pan of water was boiling on the stove, and soon the matron added to it some rose waterish fluid and a rose from a vase of which she tore mercilessly its petals and threw them in the pan of boiling water. The kitchen soon was filled with a fragrant vapor.Meanwhile, the helpers had put a ladder in the buckets of milk, and were frying the eggs, adding some slice of bananas and apples in the batter.

The gong sound was heard for the second time this morning, and the matron, poured the petal rosewater, still steaming over into a silver bowl already half filled with cold water, and put a thermometer in it. Yes, it was at the right temperature. She checked her hair in the reflection of the water, she was fine; then she took a fresh ivory towel with initial YM and carried the silver bowl into the meditation room, the helpers opened the door and proceeded with the morning procession.

They entered the main room.In the higher seat, which was set on a raised platform and decorated with cushions of Asian workmanship, carpets and garlands of flower, was a motionless man in a yogi lotus posture. His legs crossed on the seat, the sole of his feet in touch with his open palms. He was obese, his hair was jet black, long, and thin, so was his beard. He too wore a saffron suit but of heavier material, and he had around him a white shawl embroidered with gold leaves… His eyes were closed; he seemed to be in a trance.

The matron gently went besides him, and said:
"Guru, here is the water as she proceeded to put it on a rosewood table besides him."

He slowly opened his eyes, dipped his little finger into the water, yes the temperature was right. He nodded his head, and the matron ordered the two helpers to raise the silver bowl Slowly the guru put his head into the water and opened his eyes into the water several times, inhaling some water too. Then he raised his head and circulated the rose petal water into his nostrils and put his head again deep into the water this time releasing the water through the left nostril, reopening his eyes and swallowing the water. Once more he raised his head, gargled the rose water and went again into the silver basin and reopened his eyes and released the gargled water. His purification ritual was over for now.Everyone seated at his feet further down watched the morning ritual, and each day they felt the same calmness coming over them. In their shivers, they followed the course of the warm water on the respected guru beard.The journey of the warm water on the guru face was in itself a soothing fairy tale in their cold flesh. They felt with him the sootiness of the warm water…it was hypnotic…everyone floated above their humane condition, out of their mortal body and was reaching to the elusive warmth of that watery journey…Then the Guru started the Mantra, and for one hour the walls of the lodge resounded with the mantra chanting, a piercing chant that was disquietening to the animal worlds as the cows, the hens, the birds were responding with shrieking sounds…

The gong once again rang, and the helper brought out the milk and the eggs curry and each one was served on a banana leaf on the floor, and each one drank directly from the ladder the fresh milk still warm…This was no ritual, they dispensed with it rapidly, the guru never ate with them, he simply watched over, noone ever saw him eat, noone knew where he ate or whether he ate at all, but all that they saw is that his cheeks were plump and his body obese.

The gong rang once again with a new severity.The guru spoke in a muted voice and said:

"Devotees today is the day where one is to concentrate on silence, and so today noone is to speak a syllable or a word. If you do, you shall be penalized and left without food for a week. Everyone is under this duty except for children below five years old."

The duty was set, and a deadly silence set on the lodge, only disquietening animal sounds were still heard from afar…. Everyone went on doing his her own duty, gardening, studying, not a sound was heard…Today was the day of the washing of the saffron suits and all the women were to go to the well and pump the water one by one…

It was a good duty, it allowed them to keep busy and their blood running in their veins thus keeping their body warm. Today was indeed a very cold day..

So they brought buckets with rough soap cubes and stones for removing the hardest stains on the clothes, and started the hard duty. Their hands soon were bluish from cold, and steam was seen floating away from their nostrils. With every breath, some of the warmth was taken away from them. They felt colder, so they washed harder. It was so very cold.

There was no noise the children who were out there were between five and seven years old and they knew that it would be not good to talk, they did not utter a sound. They were well trained. They looked like sad puppets.

Everyone worked in silence and contemplation, trying to forget the cold that was biting their fingers. The water was so cold.Soon the task was nearly over and the women went to hang the loads of wet clothes on the lines between the tall and lean trees.

There was no noise, the birds were frightened, and sounds of wings flying away were heard as they came closer at regular intervals or the sounds of squirrels running away, climbing away from them, high in the trees. The dry autumn's leaves cracked under their steps. It was 9am and in the sky heavy white and grayish clouds hid the sun.

 

As they were hanging the clothes, one of the woman Rajuna looked around to see if her children were still close, yes Anju and Raju were with her, helping out with stern little faces. But she did not see Pradeeb….she looked everywhere he was nowhere to be found

She did not talk, the Guru's order was sacred and so she left everything and run to the well, she had a feeling, a bad feeling.

There he was, the five years old little blond boy with blue eyes, the adventurer they called him. He had turned the bucket upside down and had climbed on it next to the open well. Rajuna wanted to call his name and make him look her way, but the Guru did ordain that today, no word should be spoken aloud, if the vow of silence was broken for any reason, bad things would happen. If she called out, maybe that bad thing would be…

No she did not want to think about it now, she could not think clearly, it was best to follow the Guru's order. The vow of silence was indeed a sacred order, he was known in the Ashram as the only man of wisdom, he was above everyone else, he was worshipped like a deity.

She run, tears running down her cheeks, she saw him through the veil of her tears. She felt herself spiritually struggling: should she break her vow of silence, should she disobey? If she broke the vow of silence, surely something bad would happen. She could not think, she was so torn as she saw her beautiful child Pradeeb put his little leg over into the void of the well.

Should she call, scream, break the vow of silence?

Her mind raced so fast, she could not think so clearly: if she did the Guru said something bad would happen, and she did not utter a word

She saw the second tiny leg go into the void, she felt herself running so fast to stop that step in death.

It was too late, the little boy has fallen into the well, she saw him falling like a sad tiny puppet which strings had been cut unexpectedly, he had not screamed either, he had not uttered a sound

The Guru had ordained the vow of silence.

She stayed there all day, none missed her, and it was the day of the Vow of Silence. Everyone was staying lonely in different spots of the area, to avoid meeting the other for fear that somehow to be close to another could spark a sound, a start of a discussion, of a greeting.

Rajuna did not utter a word; she just sat there.

Then in the evening, all assembled into the meditation room and the Guru came in a similar fashion to supervise over the evening meals and the mantra chanting.

When this was over, the gong resounded in the mansion, and he started talking, he said:

"You see how easy was the Vow of Silence, our house shall be protected from evil for some time, because the word is all powerful…Refraining from talking today did save us from evil."

As they sat to eat and talk as usual, he saw that Rajuna did not speak, her face was downcast and she did not eat. He chided Rajuna in a harsh voice:
" Rajuna, do not try to be better than others, the vow of silence is over, speak, speak now"…

She did not reply, no words could come out, all the words in her had died then. She got up and went to pack her few belongings and left without a word, never to come again to the Ashram.

The next morning the Guru came in his usual fashion, undisturbed, and proceeded with ordaining the affairs of the day. As he did, he concluded by stating:

"Yesterday was the day of silence, we know that RaJuna has left because she did not obey me, she cried. The crying is a wording in itself, it was very wrong of her. As she let her tears talk, the little boy was trapped in her own selfishness and disobedience to me: evil did come and took away the little boy to death earlier that he would have if she had obeyed me. A cry, a tear is a word, make no mistake there. He died; she brought this upon herself…now here are the new instructions…"…

His voice was lost in the wind that blew outside the mansion.Rajuna was already away so far away, this was the last place she had been where her voice had been heard, it was indeed a tomb in the real life, a sin.

She had paid a heavy price and will pay the price everyday. No word will be spoken from her as her final punishment upon living in the tomb of reality; she understood it all now. The Vow of Silence was her life, only in death she would be allowed to speak again the words of truth, the words of her heart freed from the clutch of others' selfish ambitions and giddy acceptance.

Copyrighted by Raman, Brigitte Arlene -2000- All rights reserved.