The following includes a story about Mr. Sharma that took place many years before the Beggar stories and My Boat is Called Surrender. This was in the very early days of Trees for Life.
One day while in Allahabad, I had a hunch that I should visit Mr. Sharma. It was totally irrational because the temperature was 112 degrees Fahrenheit. Nonetheless, I followed my intuition and rode my bike 10 miles to his house. My arrival woke him from his afternoon rest. He was surprised and excited to see me. From his bed, he reached up and held my arm in welcome.
“Mitra (my friend), I have been most eager to see you but did not know how to get hold of you.”
I asked, “Why so eager?”
Mr. Sharma sat up on his bed and said, “I have been wanting to tell you about an experience I had.”
He paused while his nephew brought us each a cool lassi (yogurt drink). Mr. Sharma then began his story, as I sipped on the delicious drink.
“One afternoon while I was in meditation, I heard two people talking. I thought that my radio had somehow suddenly turned on. With my eyes still closed, I reached back to shut off the radio where the sound was coming from.
“Unable to locate the dial, I realized no radio was there. In fact, there was no radio in the room. Then I remembered that I did not even own a radio. But I could still hear two people talking, and the sounds were coming from that spot. I was baffled. I concentrated on the sounds. The voices were familiar. Then I realized that it was you talking with your friend, Dr. Sinha.
“The moment I recognized who the two people were, the sound disappeared, as if someone had turned off the channel.” Mr. Sharma slammed his right fist onto his open left palm to demonstrate the point.
“It was as if I had been caught eavesdropping,” he said.
Mr. Sharma was very intrigued with this experience and wanted to experiment to see if he and I could connect in a similar way when I returned to the U.S. I agreed, and we decided to attempt to connect with each other on Guru Purnima (a special day when a disciple connects with and pays homage to his spiritual teacher). Mr. Sharma was the president of all pandas in India and presumed himself to be my guru and me to be his disciple. I always simply considered him my friend.
We agreed to sit in meditation on the appointed day for three hours at exactly the same time, which translated to 2 p.m. Central Standard Time for me in Wichita, Kansas.
A problem arose in my schedule for Guru Purnima. A close relative and his new wife arrived from Pennsylvania the night before. I was delighted to see them but greatly disappointed that I would not be able to keep my psychic date with Mr. Sharma.
However, a little before lunch our friends asked if we would be terribly upset if they went to have lunch with another friend and meet us again for dinner later. I could not have planned it better.
I soon reached the church that had donated space for the Trees for Life office. My daily practice was to go into the empty church sanctuary to meditate for half-an-hour before lunch. I would sit cross-legged on the floor at the front of the sanctuary, where there was a large stained-glass picture of Jesus Christ.
On this Saturday, in the empty church, I took my usual position and began to pray, “Jesus, I am in your house. You come to me in the guise of my Guru today. I bow to you and seek guidance from you. Melt me, mold me in any way that you so desire. You know me and my needs better than I do. I only know the needs that are of this world, but you know what my soul needs. So please take charge and mold me any way that you see fit. I surrender to you with all my heart. Thine, not mine, shall be done.”
Soon, I felt I was in meditation.
I was brought back to this reality by a shrill scream that filled the sanctuary.
Slowly, I turned around to see a terrified teenage boy standing at the door with mouth wide open, his hands and body frozen in fear. As I looked at him, he ran out of the sanctuary as fast as he could, filling the hallway with his fearful cries.
Quickly, he returned with his mother. This Vietnamese mother and son were part of the church cleaning crew. Trying to reassure them, I smiled. The mother gave her son a “You stupid!” look and then explained to me that he thought he had seen a dead body in the sanctuary. The teenager looked back at her sheepishly.
It was almost 5 p.m., and I realized I had completed my three-hour meditation. As my meditation ended, internally I heard an age-old chant, Shradha bhakti baraho, santan ki sewa. I sat there for some time absorbing the sounds of this Hindu prayer.
Literally, the meaning of the prayer is: “Oh, God, increase my reverence and devotion so that I may serve all beings.”
But the meaning that was coming to me was: I am to serve my God by serving all beings with reverence and devotion.
Months later when I was back in Allahabad, Mr. Sharma told me that he did meditate for three hours on Guru Purnima but felt no connection.
Obviously, we had dialed different channels. I had connected to a channel that was meant for me. The message: I am to serve my God by serving all beings with reverence and devotion was no longer a prayer; I knew it was my marching orders.
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