God Works in Mysterious Ways.

Wife Monica and teenage son David decided to have a bash to celebrate my fiftieth birthday. They told me about it because they know I don’t like surprise celebrations. I was allowed to make suggestions on the guest list and help with the arrangements. Dinner was to be catered, held in the lawn of our modest bungalow. Fifty guests were invited and most accepted. Three days before the party, Monica said to me, “I have a surprise guest coming on your birthday.”
“Who is he? Someone I know!” I asked.
“Yes you know him. No more questions please. Let us keep it a surprise,” Monica put a tight lid on the issue and to please her I agreed to let her have her way for once.

The day arrived in its own time. Sun rose at seven as usual, scattered white clouds sparkled against the bright blue sky and a gentle breeze promised to keep heat at bay. Forecast of a pleasantly warm sunny day seemed to hold again. Monica prepared a sumptuous breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon. I opened first the cards telling me how wonderful I was and then the presents, a pure wool cardigan from Monica and a book by Pastor John of our church from David. Monica and David hung Happy Birthday balloons in green, red, blue and purple. To humour me on my special day my dear wife and son played games of Scrabble and Monopoly with me. In between the games we arranged tables and chairs for the guests, one long table for the caterer to set and serve the food, another for drinks to be served by David. I was instructed to let them do all the entertaining. I was to enjoy the adulation of the guests for having survived the rigours of the life of a college teacher. If the surprise guest was on my mind it was far back and no one mentioned him.

Guests started arriving in twos and fours after six. Half an hour later when most of the guests were on their second drink and Monica was beginning to look nervous the door bell rang. Monica’s face lit up and she rushed to welcome the guest. A few moments later I heard a voice from my youth and then saw the face of my friend from our formative years thirty years ago.

Ravi and I studied Chemistry for five years in the same school in India. We lived in the same hostel and spent much of our time in each other’s company. However, to say that we were like two peas in a pod would be exaggerating more than a bit. Ravi was the top student in our years there and I scraped the bottom. It was not that I goofed around and he worked hard. In fact it was the other way. I had to work day and night to barely average C while he spent most of his time playing Romeo with girls from Art faculties. Yet he won the best scholarships and graduated with the gold medal. If my memory serves me right he was a proud young man quick to put others in their place.

After graduation we ended up at opposite ends of Canada. Although we lost contact, I knew about him because his work at the research lab of a drug company often hit the headlines in the media. He married the daughter of a former Prime Minister. It would be more accurate to say that she married him in spite of threats of disinheritance by her irate parents. To prove himself worthy of her he worked hard and made best use of his talents. He won all the honours a scientist can win. He rose to become the youngest ever director of a major lab in North America and was invited to join the boards of some of the largest corporations in the country. His estate in Montreal was often featured in popular magazines for the excellence of its design and furnishings. I, on the other hand, married a kindergarten teacher from a working class family and struggled as a teacher in the local technical college. Our paths couldn’t have diverged further.

To say I was surprised to see him standing there is an understatement of the magnitude only I can make. I looked at him with my mouth wide open. There was my friend of teen years, looking wiser and older but not any different than twenty two year old Ravi I had last seen. Not one of his long hair had turned grey, same wheatish complexion, not a pound more on the slim figure, short by Canadian standards but still impressive. Only thing odd was his dress, white loin cloth and a long cotton tunic in pale orange. He looked like a monk on the bank of River Ganges. I, on the other hand, had lost most of my hair and quite a few teeth, gained fifty pounds and stooped a little. I was dressed as a pretend cowboy for the Stampede season. It took a pat on the back by David to bring me back to Earth and move forward to greet my friend.

As we shook hands vigorously and then hugged other guests cheered. Somehow they had known about the surprise. He asked what I was up to and I told him of my good fortune in Monica and David and a job that paid enough for us to live in some comfort. I asked him about his unusual dress. “We will talk about it later,” he answered.

The party was a great success. Ravi was a hit. When people asked him how new drugs were invented he told them interesting tales from his lab. Now that I think of it, he said only the minimum about himself. He asked every one about their families and interesting events in their lives, listened attentively and paid due compliments. I noticed that he drank only water and avoided meat. Every one had good words for my old friend. I basked in reflected glory with delight.

After the other guests had left, Ravi and I headed for the den. He refused the glass of wine but encouraged me to have one. After some small talk I asked him again what was behind his monkish appearance. Here is what he said, as well as I can remember it.

“You know about the scholarship every gold medalist from our college was offered. I accepted it gladly and came to Montreal to do a doctorate in Pharmaceutical Chemistry. Even before I was half way through, several drug companies offered me attractive positions. I accepted one where I would have the most independence and have stayed with them ever since. They have been kind to me and the association has been good for both, the company and me, as well as for public at large because we were able to discover treatments for some common diseases.

“I met Brenda at a colleague’s reception. If I had known her pedigree I would have avoided her but I did not know and we fell in love. In spite of her parents’ bitter opposition, may be because of it, we got married. Her parents came around when Brenda was expecting our first baby. We had a comfortable life. Brenda looked after the family, we ended up with a boy and a girl by the way, supported the Arts as much as we could afford and gloried in my professional success.

“Life was good till three years ago. Then the house collapsed as if it was made of cards. Perhaps it was. Brenda told me she was in love with the Premier of the province whose romances in his gay life as a bachelor kept the local tabloids in business. She wanted a divorce so she could marry her lover and help him become the Prime Minister of Canada.

“I was shattered. I was never an emotional person, won’t say I really knew what loving a human being was. Friends said my Emotional IQ was zero and that is why I was such a success in the profession. The children were in college, the boy at Harvard, the girl at Wharton. The distance had made the relations with family at home quite tenuous. Brenda was the only person I really cared for in this world. Now she wanted no part in my life.

“I did the only thing I could think of. I went to the roof of my lab and jumped off. Six storey building wasn’t tall enough and after a few months in hospital my bones were as good as they were before the fall. The huge stink in the newspapers made the Premier change his mind but Brenda filed for divorce any way. She did make sure though that I was looked after during the recovery. When I was walking again, she did something for which I will always be grateful to her.

“She found out from some article in a San Francisco publication about the ashram – what they call retreat here - of Swami Dharyanand in Rishikesh, not far from where I grew up. Rishikesh is a beautiful little town in North India located in the foothills of Himalayas on the Ganges before it has been polluted by the discharge from the millions who live in the cities along the river and its tributaries. This swami is unique; he is an atheist and his ashram is for atheists who are suffering emotional distress. It costs a pretty penny but that was not a problem, thanks to the Premier’s sense of guilt. I spent six months at the ashram. There were thirty disciples, as they were called. Every month a few of them left and were replaced by the new ones. Those six months with Swami changed my life and I can not thank him enough.

“The disciples were of all ages – from late teens to sixties, from all walks of life and from all over the world. We lived in dormitories, one for men and one for the ladies. Intermingling of sexes was encouraged and there were a couple of private rooms available to couples for occasional rendezvous. We had two things in common, we did not believe in omnipotent God and all of us were emotionally distressed. Our lives were quite regimented. The diet was strictly vegetarian, alcohol was not permitted and consumption of coffee and tea was limited to two eight oz cups a day. Our day started with the sun rise. We had half an hour to prepare ourselves for the day. After a breakfast of oatmeal and milk, we worked in the garden for an hour. Then we headed for the morning discourse.

“Discourse was the best part of the day. Swami and swamini, his partner, sat cross-legged on the carpet on a raised platform. We sat on the bare floor facing them, ladies on the left, men on the right. Swami spoke in heavily accented English and often asked swamini for appropriate English words. He set the ball rolling by wishing every one a good day and asking if there were any questions on previous discussions or suggestions on topics we would like to study. There were many questions from the floor, mostly of personal nature and some suggestions based on what had been bothering the individuals. Swami responded with patience and answered questions in detail. Once in a while swamini nudged him and he allowed her to say her piece.

“The sermon came next. There was no mention of any superpower, not even Darwin, or of any holy book In fact there was nothing holy in swami’s books. But he talked for an hour or more on how human beings should live and the principles that should guide them. After more than two years most of his sermons have receded to the back of my memory but one principle he enunciated stands out. For me, this was the foundation of all other principles and I vowed to practice it for the rest of my life. I knew there would be times I would fail but every failure would be followed by greater effort. I have much to be grateful to the Swami for, but his illumination of this simple rule, which all religions preach and all saints have practiced, is what transformed my life from a stressed to the breaking point existence to a succession of peaceful and harmonious days.”

He stopped to take a few sips from the glass of water. It broke the reverie I was in and I picked up my wine glass and a handful of salted lightly roasted peanuts. Our smiles reflected our renewed affection for each other. We enjoyed a few moments of silence. Then I asked him to tell me all about the teaching that guides him now. He continued from where he had left off.

“It is something so obvious I have often wondered why I had to return to my birth place and go to a swami to learn it. Let us face it; Hindu swamis have the image of self-serving, money grabbing individuals educated Indians despise. Yet here I was under a swami’s wing, although not a Hindu but an atheist, yet a swami all the same. After being accustomed to luxury of a Montreal mansion, it was tough, particularly for the first few weeks. Yet, there was something there which gave me an inner peace I had never known. Swami and swamini talked in soothing tones, never raised their voice and answered even the stupidest queries gently although a faint smile could sometimes be noted by a careful observer. Hard physical labour in the fields before and after the morning session must have contributed too as did the lack of stimulants in the diet. As you must have noticed, I have continued Swami’s diet regimen although I sleep longer and work in the lab rather than on a farm. I have managed to retain the peace swami helped me acquire and stresses, whether from negative results at the lab or news of Brenda’s complaints about our lives together or the kids demanding ever bigger allowances, last no longer than a few minutes. In any event, I have kept away from the roof and any inclination to go there has been fleeting.”

Monica came in the den to check we were still awake and asked if we needed a snack. Instead of answering her query I suggested, “Come and join us. Ravi is telling me what changed him from an upward mobile stressed to the hilt yuppie to a man at peace with his inner self. He spent six months in an atheist ashram in India and he is just getting to the point of telling me his swami’s key teaching.”
“It won’t mean much to me without the context. I will go and finish putting the house back in order. You can tell me all about it later,” Monica said tactfully leaving old friends on their own.

Ravi picked up the thread, “As I was saying I stay away from the dreadful roof. Only time, and it is only momentary, I feel that way is when the word gets to me of Brenda telling our common friends my numerous shortcomings, particularly how deficient I was in bed. She never forgave me and invented some new blemishes in my personality, how much of it is due to my action which made her love for the debonair Premier a melancholic memory is hard to tell. Regardless, I am completely focused on observing the principle and the failures, when they occur, make me try harder.

“Okay, I have kept you in suspense long enough. The new principle in my life, and you will be surprised to hear it because it is diametrically opposite to what I followed when we were at college, is amazingly simple to state and immensely difficult to practice. But just trying to do it washes away the accumulating dirt in my soul; it makes me feel good all over. Here it is: In all your contacts make the other person feel better than he or she did before meeting you. Easy to say and to some it comes naturally. But it is hard for me and I have to constantly remind myself. I am getting better at it though.”

Ravi stopped and looked at me waiting for a reaction. I was a little confused by his short statement after such a lengthy introduction. But words were expected of me and this is what I mumbled, “You are right; it is simple to say and hard to do. In our own ways we all try to do it without really realizing it but our ego gets in the way. Problem is equally simple to state and just as hard to solve: How do we put the other before self.”

Ravi replied, “Swami Dharyanand devoted several mornings to this problem. Sages have emphasized humility as the most important characteristic in a noble human being. Humility means being aware of our shortcomings as much as the goodness in others. It means living for others; putting self after that of the person you are in contact with. It means relieving the suffering of others and replacing it with joy. It means providing a source of strength to the down and out individual whatever the cost. It means letting go of the ego. It is hard, very hard. I fail more often than I succeed. I have to constantly remind myself of my vow to the Swami. That is why I wear the humble apparel of a disciple – to remind me of my primary responsibility. It might sound phony but I do get great satisfaction in trying.”
“How do you control your natural reaction to fire back when some one near and dear to you is harshly critical of you on a regular basis?" I asked.
“Swami covered that too in one of his sermons. It is difficult but by no means impossible. One has to realize that getting upset does not improve the situation. I would look at my recent actions and try to identify the one that may have prompted the criticism. There is no smoke without fire. If one finds the fire and puts it out, the smoke disappears.”


Clock in the hall struck twice. Ravi stood up, “Time to say goodbye. It was kind of Monica to think of me and it was a joy to renew the old friendship. I am sorry if I bored you with my monologue. I do get carried away. Please convey my thanks to your charming wife and best wishes to your delightful son. I will write to you when I am back in Montreal.”

We walked to his rented car and shook hands firmly before he got into the driver’s seat. I turned back towards the front door with moist eyes wondering where an atheist gets the strength from to take such a vow and to work so hard to keep it.

Monica was awake when I crept into bed. I told her my dear friend’s strange story. In spite of the late hour, she listened to it without falling asleep and did not interrupt me once. When I finished she looked at the ceiling, perhaps through it, and mumbled, “God works in mysterious ways”.