I bow down to Sri Hari, the head of my spiritual family, the adorable grandpa, who is privy to all my prayers. I offer my obeisance to the Divine Mother, the unseen, all-pervading gust of love. She hides me in her expansive ‘anchal,’ pats my head, strokes my hair, and listens silently to my every rant. Bless me with the words, dear Ma and Sri Hari, to write about my master, the one who brought you into my life.

Long ago, I heard a story about a Sufi Guru (let’s call him Huzur Sahib) from my maternal grandfather. Huzur Sahib had many disciples who visited him at regular intervals to seek advice and guidance. One of them started frequenting a tawaif (a courtesan). When the errant disciple failed to visit Huzur Sahib a few times, the master gently inquired about his whereabouts and came to know the entire situation. Without delay, Huzur Sahib sent a messenger to the disciple’s house. “Huzur Sahib is missing you. He has called for you. Visit him as soon as possible,” he was told. The disciple went reluctantly.

Huzur Sahib was sitting on the wooden bench in the courtyard as usual. A glorious sight in white robes; his white beard and long hair reached up to his chest. His eyes sparkled upon seeing his prodigal son return. In a genial tone, he motioned for him to be seated in front of him.

“Aman miyan, kahan rehte ho? Aaj kal aate hi nahin? (You don’t come these days.) The Shagird sat in silence, his gaze rooted to the ground.

“Accha idhar dekho, kya humse zyada khoobsurat hain wo? (Ok, look up; is she more beautiful than me?) He said it laughingly. The disciple looked up into the kohl-lined eyes of his master, a gaze so arresting that it pierced all the webs of delusion. No, he had never seen a visage more beautiful than his master’s. How had he strayed? He fell at Huzur Sahib’s feet and cried inconsolably. I don’t know what happened next. My mind wants to imagine that Huzur Sahib would have hugged him, asked him to wash his face, and told him to have dinner.

What an immense grace it is to be under the protection of a spiritual master! The one who knows and loves you more than you can ever imagine! Love that defies our worldly understanding of the word. Before Swami (my Guru) came into my life, I did not understand the meaning or relevance of the term ‘lotus feet’. It seemed like a transliteration of the beautiful Hindi word ‘charan kamal,’ which, being a culturally specific term, sadly did not seem to connote anything in English (to me). Add to that my gross ignorance and a mountain of ego. I would stand in the Sri Hari temple like a fixture, unable to throw my hands up in glee at the end of the aarti. “Why are they flailing their arms? Am I supposed to do the same?” I would wonder. But when your beloved master works on you, breaking the rocks of arrogance into the soft soil of devotion, change comes about gradually but assuredly. I know today that raising hands in the air after Aarti is a symbolic gesture of loving submission. “I am a fool, dear Shri Hari. You know best. Take me into your refuge.” You think you are progressing, but it's pure grace. Devotion is another name for it. How else can a heart so stubborn begin to melt and thaw? With her limited wisdom, a disciple can never realize the wealth the Guru showers her with. Bhakti Saint Kabirdas has beautifully articulated what I am trying to convey. (Sung by Pandit Kumar Gandharva)

My Guru has granted me the herbs of wisdom.

That herb is dear to me — the one soaked in sweet nectar (Amrit)

In the city of the body, there’s a house— a bungalow.

Somewhere in the middle of that house, it lies hidden.

Five serpents and 25 Naginis (females) die as soon as they sniff this herb.

This Kali (the herb) devoured the entire world

Shuddered with fear in my Guru’s presence.

Taking refuge in truth, Shivaguru says

I crossed over with my whole family.

(meaning courtesy: Singing Emptiness by Linda Hess)

I was fortunate to be in the presence of Swami’s Padukas on the last Guru Purnima. Some people were singing Guru Paduka Strotram in the background while, one by one, devotees were offering flowers to the padukas. The meaning of ‘lotus feet’ became somewhat clear to my dense mind. The wooden slippers of my beloved Guru! He was not there that day. We were reminded of his genial presence. How he would have sung the arti while adoring Shri Hari! How he would have laughed, chided, and teased us during a discourse! It was indeed my biggest privilege to bow down at the padukas that cradled his lotus feet. I belonged there, near those feet.

I wish I could sing something, but I have miles to go. There are spiritual giants out there. Fortunately, I can just use their words (and give them credit:)), for they surpass what I can ever express. Baul Singer and Fakir, Panju Shah beseeches his master, Goshai Heeruchand, to give him refuge at his lotus feet. Parvathy Baul brings the bhajan alive with her earthy vocals. Towards the end of the bhajan, Panju Shah exclaims in desperation that he was born so that he could hold his spiritual master’s feet. Please read the meaning of the Baul song here. Knowing the meaning will help you appreciate the essence.

How I wish I could imbibe some of this devotion! On Guru Purnima, when I should be offering gratitude, I find myself still asking.