The city of Ujjain, nestled on the serene banks of the Kshipra River in Madhya Pradesh, stood as a silent witness to the ebb and flow of empires and eras. The year was 250 BCE, and Ujjain flourished under the reign of Chandrapradyodana Mahasena, a contemporary of Sri Buddha and Mahavira. The city, once the vibrant capital of the Avanti kingdom, encompassed the territories of modern Malwa, Nimar, and parts of Madhya Pradesh, its streets echoing with the tales of a bygone age.
The Maurya Empire's influence was palpable as the young Prince Ashoka, tasked with quelling unrest in the province, sought refuge in Ujjain. His presence added a new chapter to the city's storied past, and though his reign was distant, his legacy shaped Ujjain's destiny. Following the Mauryan decline, the Shungars and Satavahanas took their turns ruling the ancient city, their own stories woven into its fabric.
By the 2nd century CE, the city's fate shifted as the nomadic Ror tribes laid claim to Ujjain, their dominance lasting until the Gupta Empire's rise. Under Chandragupta Maurya II, known as Vikramaditya, Ujjain was crowned the capital once more. It thrived as a beacon of literature, mathematics, and astronomy, its scholars and poets immortalizing its grandeur.
In 1235, the city fell to the forces of Iltumish, marking the beginning of a new era. As the Mughal Empire's reach extended, Akbar made Ujjain the capital of Malwa. The Maratha Empire later claimed it in the 18th century, with Sindhia overseeing its administration. The 19th century brought further changes as Ujjain became part of Gwalior until India's independence in 1947, when it merged with the Indian Union and later with Madhya Pradesh in 1956.
Yet, through the centuries of conquest and change, Ujjain retained its sacred essence. It stood as one of the seven holy cities of Hinduism, its significance immortalized by the grand Kumbh Mela held every twelve years. Near this venerable city, the ashram of Sage Sandipani was said to have flourished, where the young Sri Krishna, Balarama, and Sudama (Kuchelan) once received their cherished education. Ujjain's enduring legacy continued to shine through the ages, a testament to its ancient and unyielding spirit.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over Ujjain, the taxi carrying Satyanarayana Varma and Asha Devi came to a halt near the majestic Mahakaleshwar Temple. With a quick exchange of fare, they stepped out onto the bustling streets, their anticipation palpable as they made their way towards the sacred entrance.
The Mahakaleshwar Temple, one of the revered twelve Jyotirlinga Temples of India, stood grandly on the shores of Rudrasagar Lake. Its ancient stones whispered tales of devotion and divinity, with the Shiva lingam here known as Mahakaleshwaran, reputed to be the only Swayambhu among the Jyotirlingams.
Satyanarayana Varma, accompanied by his wife, moved purposefully towards the mansion within the temple complex, where the priests and temple staff resided. The evening air was filled with the aroma of incense and the murmurs of devotion.
Upon reaching the mansion, they found Guruji Om Prakash standing on the verandah, engaged in conversation with the temple staff. His presence was serene yet commanding.
"Who is this, Varma?... Come on... Come on..." Guruji's voice trailed off as he caught sight of Satyanarayana Varma. A smile of recognition spread across his face, and he immediately approached them with open arms.
Satyanarayana Varma and Asha Devi walked forward and, with deep respect, touched Guruji's feet and bowed. The sacred ambiance of the temple seemed to envelop them.
"Guruji, I have come to seek your guidance..." Satyanarayana Varma began.
Guruji Om Prakash nodded with understanding. "I see. We will discuss this in detail. It's time for the evening puja now. Please join me in the temple. After the puja, there will be a concert in the mandapam. We can talk then."
"So be it, Swami," Satyanarayana Varma replied, his voice filled with reverence. Together, they entered the temple, ready to partake in the evening's divine rituals and the forthcoming celebration.
As the evening puja concluded, the mandapam came alive with the soft, golden glow of lamps. Satyanarayana Varma and Asha Devi settled into their seats in the front row, their eyes eagerly fixed on the stage.
A hush fell over the crowd as a small boy, no older than ten, took his place at the center of the stage. With a delicate poise, he began to sing, his voice weaving through the air like a sacred thread. The melody of the Rama kirtana filled the space, a hauntingly beautiful rendition that seemed to touch the very soul of the listeners.
Satyanarayana Varma closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him. The boy's voice, pure and melodic, seemed to dissolve his anxieties and fears, replacing them with a profound sense of peace. Each note of the kirtana resonated deeply within him, carrying away the weight of his concerns.
The lyrics floated through the air, a sacred mantra that spoke of divine solace:
"Dooreekritha Pathaka Samsargam
Pooritha nanavidha phalavargam
Janana marana bhaya shokavidooram
Sakalasastra Nigamagama Saram
Paripalita Sarasija Garbandam
Parama pavithreekritha pashandam
Suddhaparamahamsa Ashram Geetham
Shukashaunaka Kausika Mukhapeetam
Pibare Ramarasam Rasane
Pibare Ramarasam..."
("To remove you from all sinful associations,
To be perfected with various fruits,
To free from birth, death, fear and sorrow,
The essence of all sciences,
Who preserves the whole world,
Purifying even the unbeliever,
That pure song on which poets rely,
And uttered from the faces of sages including Shuka, Shaunaka and Kausika.
O tongue, taste the nectar of Rama's name,
Taste the nectar of Rama's name...")
As the boy's voice rose and fell, each line seemed to draw Satyanarayana Varma further into a state of serene reflection. The sacred music created a cocoon of tranquility around him, each verse a gentle balm for his restless spirit.
After the concert, the night air was cool and crisp as Guruji Om Prakash led Satyanarayana Varma and Asha Devi towards his ashram. Nestled behind the mansion where the temple staff and priests resided, the Akhanda Jyoti Ashram stood as a beacon of hope and serenity. Its name, "Never Extinguishing Light," seemed to embody its essence—an eternal guide and refuge for the lost souls seeking solace.
The ashram was more than a spiritual sanctuary; it was a thriving hub of charitable work. Cowsheds, old age homes, orphanages, and educational institutions flourished under its watchful care. This selfless service, coupled with the ashram's serene ambiance, created a sanctuary where the troubled could find both practical support and spiritual guidance.
In the quiet of the ashram library, illuminated by soft lamplight, Guruji Om Prakash, Satyanarayana Varma, and Asha Devi settled into three chairs arranged around a sturdy wooden table. The library's shelves, lined with ancient texts and manuscripts, seemed to echo with the wisdom of ages.
Guruji Om Prakash, though immersed in a myriad of spiritual discourses and cultural activities, maintained an aura of calm and attentiveness. Despite his busy schedule, he never let his visitors feel the weight of his many responsibilities. His focus was unwavering, dedicated to addressing their spiritual needs with patience and care.
Satyanarayana Varma began to recount the matter at hand, his voice steady but laden with concern. As he spoke, he observed Guruji's contemplative expression, waiting for a response. The guru listened intently, his eyes reflecting the weight of wisdom and experience.
Satyanarayana Varma recalled his last visit to the ashram two years prior, when both he and Asha Devi had been accompanied by Shivatmika. The memory lingered, contrasting sharply with the present. Guruji had changed over the years—his presence had grown more majestic, the sparkle in his eyes had deepened, and the flowing white beard and robes added to his dignified appearance. Now, at over seventy years old, he carried an aura of profound grace and insight.
The room remained silent as Guruji Om Prakash continued to ponder, his gaze fixed on the flickering light of the lamp, reflecting on the matters presented before him.
"You know, it's the twelfth year," Satyanarayana Varma said quietly, his gaze steady on Guruji Om Prakash.
Guruji's expression shifted, his face furrowing with concern. Satyanarayana Varma watched as a myriad of doubts and reservations flickered across the guru's features. The weight of the moment seemed to hang heavily in the air.
Guruji Om Prakash turned his gaze toward the window, his eyes resting on the towering peak of the Mahakaleshwar Temple silhouetted against the twilight sky. The serene scene outside contrasted sharply with the gravity of the discussion within.
Satyanarayana Varma sat patiently, awaiting a response. The Akhanda Jyoti Ashram, nestled near the ashram of Bhartrihari, brother of the philosopher Vararuchi, seemed to envelop them in its ancient wisdom.
"Tell me about the significant events of these twelve years," Guruji finally asked, his voice a calm counterpoint to the tension in the room.
"All the incidents are from last year," Satyanarayana Varma replied.
Satyanarayana Varma continued, "Maps detailing the treasure of Muthimala, a closely guarded secret for generations, were stolen from the palace library. They were considered top secret."
Asha Devi interjected, her voice tinged with urgency. "Then there were several mysterious accidents involving my daughter. She was poisoned once, nearly drowned during a picnic when her boat capsized, and another time, a large tree fell on her car, though there was no wind. She was saved by her friends, who have since been involved in her protection."
Asha Devi's words hung in the air, and Guruji's expression grew more serious, reflecting the gravity of the situation.
"And then there's the curse of brahmatya. Shivatmika is turning eighteen on the full moon day. The old curse..."
Guruji Om Prakash listened intently, his eyes reflecting the depth of his contemplation. The flickering lamp light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the furrows of concern as he absorbed the gravity of the unfolding events. Guruji Om Prakash was well-versed in the historical events of the Ikshaku dynasty and had also served as the chief priest for the Mahamrityunjaya Homam held at Satyanarayana Varma's palace twelve years prior.
"Guruji, the sacrifice must be conducted soon," Satyanarayana Varma urged, his tone imbued with a sense of urgency.
Guruji's face showed a flicker of discomfort, a subtle shift that did not go unnoticed by Satyanarayana Varma and his wife. Their brows furrowed in confusion. What could be troubling the guru at such a critical moment?
"Guruji, is there any interruption?" Satyanarayana Varma asked, sensing the hesitation.
Guruji Om Prakash gazed at them both, his eyes reflecting a deep inner conflict. He hesitated before responding. "The sacrifice must align with destiny."
He continued, "The priest performing the sacrifice must be impeccable in Vedic judgement. He must possess self-knowledge, intense celibacy, and self-restraint, achieved through the power of penance. This is the essence of the ritual."
Satyanarayana Varma and Asha Devi listened intently, their expressions growing more serious as they absorbed the weight of Guruji's words.
Guruji's voice took on a somber tone. "If we examine the history of the Mahamrityunjaya Yagas conducted at your palace, it is evident that all the priests who led these rituals were marked by these very qualities."
The gravity of Guruji's statements hung in the air, underscoring the importance of both the ritual and the qualifications of its conductor.
"All these virtues belong to you..." Asha Devi's eyes were filled with hope as she looked at Guruji Om Prakash.
Guruji met her gaze with a reassuring nod. "I can," he said simply.
He continued, his voice steady but tinged with gravity, "We are preparing for an unusual sacrifice. According to Vedic tradition, no single priest should preside over more than one Mrityunjaya Homa. The ritual is most effective when led by a young priest. Given that this is the year when the curse on the princess is predicted to manifest, we need a vigorous and youthful priest."
"But…" Satyanarayana Varma's voice was laced with anxiety. "Will we find a young monk today who possesses Vedic knowledge, Vedanta wisdom, mastery of the Shastras and Smritis, and empirical understanding of Tantric rituals?"
Guruji Om Prakash closed his eyes, his expression thoughtful. Satyanarayana Varma and Asha Devi watched in silence as a serene smile gradually appeared on his face. Moments of intense meditation seemed to pass before he opened his eyes, now sparkling with a renewed resolve. He met their gazes with a calm assurance that promised hope and guidance.
Satyanarayana Varma leaned forward, eyes wide with anticipation. "There is one," Guruji Om Prakash intoned softly, his gaze fixed on the distant silhouette of the Mahakaleshwar temple tower framed by the window.
"Who is that, Guruji?" Satyanarayana Varma's voice crackled with excitement.
Guruji's eyes shimmered with a deep inner light as he spoke, "One who embodies all the qualities I have described. Vedic wisdom, Vedanta wisdom—a person who inhales the shastras and smritis as naturally as he breathes. One who is enraptured by tantric wisdom as if it were an intoxicant…"
The room seemed to glow with the radiance of his words.
"Non-exhausted virtues…" The words rang out with renewed fervor from the eager voice of Satyanarayana Varma.
"Indeed. One who perceives the secrets of another's soul through the power of penance. A devout celibate who views all women with the reverence of a mother."
Guruji Om Prakash's voice carried a weight of truth, unembellished by hyperbole. Satyanarayana Varma, puzzled, pondered why such an extraordinary figure remained obscure.
"Where is he now, Guruji?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.
"He is no longer at the monastery," Guruji replied.
"Is he here in this ashram with you?" Ashadevi's voice held a note of yearning.
"No," Guruji answered, his voice a gentle whisper. "His ashram is the whole world. Aniket—the one without a home. He who claims no shelter as his own, yet makes the entire world his abode. His ashram is found in the depths of forests, the silence of caves, the heights of mountain peaks, the banks of rivers, and even in the squalor of slums… Everywhere is his ashram. As for his current location…"
Guruji Om Prakash's eyes, full of kindness and illumination, closed once more, leaving his listeners enveloped in contemplative silence.
Will continue...