To the Himalayas and back

 After my initiation into the spiritual path by Guru Nithyachaitanya Yati at the Ooty Fern Hill Narayana Gurukulam, one day, he offered me a blessing, telling me I was fortunate to be heading to the Himalayas to study Vedanta. Soon after, Guru asked me to join a fellow traveler leaving Ooty in a black ambassador taxi. They were to go to Coimbatore. I tagged along, caught a train to New Delhi, and from there, bus to Haridwar, and eventually to Rishikesh, to the Divine Life Society. Swami Chidananda ji was president, and Swami Krishnananda ji was secretary at the time. I was thrilled but unsure of what awaited me. I packed my collected spiritual books—my bag was heavy, though I had only four saffron robes and, of course, my violin. Alone, I set off with these companions, traveling by train and bus all the way to Rishikesh, guided only by trust in my Guru. When I arrived, Guru had given me an envelope with a thousand rupees and a letter. Out of curiosity, I opened it: it was filled with love, asking Swami Chidananda ji to take care of me as his own son. Once there, he warmly arranged my stay, meals, and every need. Over the next year, immersed in daily routines—chanting, Vedanta classes, and visits to nearby ashrams—I met kind souls like Swami Prabuddhananda, who made tea for me, and Swami Vidynananda, a Vinā player from All India Radio. Each of them, and many others, became a guiding light in my journey. This was just the beginning of a transformative year.

 Each morning, I walked along the banks of the Ganges, but one day, with a quiet extra moment, I sat on a rock, simply watching the river’s powerful current. As I sat there, I noticed a corpse floating downstream, caught briefly on rocks before it reached me. Vultures, eagles, and crows gathered, pulling at the body. As I watched, something inside me shifted—this sudden, stark vision of impermanence gave me a brief but profound mental detachment from the body. After some time, the corpse drifted away and disappeared in the current. With this heavy moment behind me, I walked on to the Dayananda Ashram, where I joined my Atma Bodham lesson, guided by the Swamiji there.

 A pivotal part of my time in Rishikesh was discovering Swami Sivananda’s vast library. I dove into books that truly spoke to me—one on brahmacharya, the power of celibacy, and another on nāda yoga, the yoga of sound. As I immersed myself in these teachings, I began practicing brahmacharya, and it gave me an extraordinary sense of confidence and energy for my spiritual path. Alongside, practicing nāda yoga—especially during the evening Ganga Aarti—allowed me to tune into subtle, inner sounds. Using the Shanmukhi Mudra, I heard the anāhata nādam rising within me—an astonishing, almost otherworldly realm. Guru Nithyachaitanya Yati even named me a nāda yogi, and my violin practice—rooted in the teachings of Lalgudi Jayaraman—became a bridge between sound and spirit. All of this, together, led to a unique and transformative exploration in my life.

 Months passed in this serene isolation, and though I was deeply immersed in the ashram, far from my family, from my parents and siblings, doubts occasionally crept in. What was my purpose here? Yet, it was Swami Vidynananda, the kind Vinā player and All India Radio artist, who reminded me that living in the Himalayas alone didn’t guarantee enlightenment. He gently said, if that were the case, even the cows and buffalos here would become enlightened. It’s not the place, he said, but the being. With that wisdom, he advised me to return to Chennai to pursue a rare opportunity—learning directly from the legendary Lalgudi Jayaraman. He assured me I could continue my spiritual practice and return to the Himalayas whenever I wished. Although Guru Nithyachaitanya had hoped I would stay 12 to 15 years, I left after almost a year, carrying with me invaluable lessons and a renewed sense of direction.

 On my journey back from Rishikesh, I paused in New Delhi, and as I descended from the stillness of the Himalayas, I felt a distinct shift in my mind. The urban bustle of Delhi stirred more contemplations—social currents pulling at my focus. It was during this time that I reconnected with a friend, Shailen Parker, a photographer and a friend of my spiritual brother, Suresh Babu. While staying in his home, I was reading a book by Osho Rajneesh. A single line pierced me—he wrote that a true guru never traps the disciple but sends them into the world to learn and experience life. At once, I realized that’s exactly what Guru Nithyachaitanya Yati had done for me. In that instant, an overwhelming energy enveloped me—my body froze, still as a statue, and I remained in that suspended state until, gradually, it faded. Just then, Shailen called and told me the news: Guru Nithyachaitanya Yati had passed away. At that moment, I knew—I felt his presence—and I went straight to the Ooty Finn Hill Narayana Gurukulam, where the samādhi ceremony was being held.