I had a good rest in Braja Mohan’s father’s room.  I bathed, then put my dhoti and t-shirt on.  I had to leave.  Ivor and Nicholas were waiting  for me.

I took breakfast with Braja Mohan.  ‘I have to go now’, I said.  Braja Mohan, his mother and his beautiful two-year old daughter, Gunjin, were waiting at the door.  It was an emotional parting.  When Braja Mohan humbly bowed down from his side of the door, I did the same; without taking my shoes off.  An elderly sadhu by the name of Ghaneshyama saw this and frowned disapprovingly.   Thinking his hospitality was profit-driven, I offered Braja Mohan a hundred rupee note.  What I thought was a reasonable gesture made him almost feverish with embarrassment.  So much so, he couldn’t even verbally reject my offer.  Rather, he seemed to blow the note off with his hands as if it were something he didn’t want to touch.  Ghaneshyama’s second rebuke hit harder.  ‘You cannot purchase bhakti‘, he said.  I was dumfounded. But the dread-locked Ghaneshyama, his belongings tied to the end of the branch of a tree, walked on.   And was gone.  Three small figures waved from the foot of Radharani’s hill until I, too, disappeared from their sight.

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