Neem Karoli Baba was a great yogi who has had an immeasurable influence on the spread of yoga from India to the West. The extent of his influence on the Western yoga movement will never be fully known as he was so averse to fame and personal publicity. Also known as Maharaji (literally, “great king,” but commonly used as a title, like, “sir”), Neem Karoli Baba was a great exponent of the power of the repetition of the simple mantra, “Ram” (rhymes with “mom”). The Ram mantra is an easy and wonderful way to develop compassion within oneself and spread positive vibrations to others. I was introduced to the Ram mantra by Maharaji and have worked with it for some 30 years.
Neem Karoli Baba died on September 11, 1973. The teachings of this great man of love are a stark contrast to the beliefs that later brought forth the events of September 11, 2001. Same calendar date, completely divergent thought systems. I have come to believe that humanity has reached a crossroads, and these two events are reflections of our possible futures. We can follow the teachings of the sages to love and serve one another, or we can hate and try to destroy each other. The paths diverge, we must choose. Will it be “Ram or the bomb?”
One of the most remarkable things about Neem Karoli Baba is his teaching style. Rather than speak about something at length, he would offer a few words, then seemingly instigate a situation so the individual would find out for himself the validity of the teaching. I have witnessed this so often that it no longer even seems odd, or miraculous. I feel like I once had a taste of both Maharaji’s unique teaching style, as well as the power of the Ram mantra.
One Spring, I had led a workshop at the Ananda Ashram in Monroe, N.Y., and was traveling home to Middlebury via the New York Northway. I was in the car with my good friends, Shivani and Barsani dasi, both young women in their 20s. At one point we were talking about Neem Karoli Baba. I was expressing my disappointment at the way some of his devotees had behaved in the past couple of years. I held that they had acted in ways in which I judged were conceited. I felt they were trying to make themselves rich and famous by presenting yoga in a commercial manner, often using Maharaji to bolster their position as teachers. I found this upsetting because Maharaji was well-known for avoiding the superficial and for generously sharing everything without concern for fame or fortune.
My being upset, of course, had nothing to do with anyone else’s behavior. It was my reaction, and it certainly didn’t have anything to do with Maharaji, any more than we should blame Jesus for the fake preachers on late-night television. I guess I needed someone to blame, though, so I declared that my faith in Maharaji and, by relation, the Ram mantra, had been diminishing.
After driving a bit more, the three of us stopped for a bathroom break at one of the rest areas. It was a dark night, and the rest area was seemingly deserted. We were the only car in the lot. The men’s and women’s bathrooms were separated by a thick cement wall. I was in the men’s room taking care of business when I heard Shivani and Barsani dasi screaming from the women’s room.
Their cries, muffled somewhat by the wall, terrified me. All I could hear was their shrieking, “No! Stop!” I had the fleeting thought that they were being assaulted. Adrenalin shot through my system. My reaction must have bypassed my mind because if I had stopped to think I would have been paralyzed with fear. Instead, I ran to the women’s room, swung open the door, charged in, and with fists clenched I roared as loud as I could, “Ram!”
When I raged into the women’s room, I found no assailant to fight. Turned out the screaming was due to a malfunction in the toilets resulting in streams of water shooting up from the bowl onto the ladies’ butts! Anticlimactic, for sure, but I was tremendously relieved. I had really been frightened to my core, thinking I was entering some violent situation. It took a bit for my heart to stop pounding. The girls were very sweet, apologizing for upsetting me, and praising me for my almost heroism. I was not up for the praise, though, because the goal of yoga practice is not to be courageous but to be fearless. Fearless, believe me, I was not.
What was most astonishing to me was how my mind knew where to turn when the proverbial stuff hit the fan. My spontaneously calling out the Ram mantra was not the result of a calculation or any rational process. It came from a place of raw emotion because I had grown to trust the mantra and the great sages who have professed its benefits. I didn’t even realize I would rely on the mantra until confronted with this event. It is comforting to me, now, to know the mantra has taken root in me. I believe it will be there for me as a support and comfort in any dramatic life situation, including the transition of death. Finally, considering the absurdity of the way I learned this lesson, I can’t help wondering if there was not a mischievous finger in the pie of the situation, a finger on the hand of the giggling Neem Karoli Baba.
