Meeting Dr. Sinha

January 1981
Allahabad, India

I am not very adept at small talk, and at times I feel handicapped by this. This is one of those occasions.

I have come to be with my mother for a few days in Allahabad. Raghav, a young friend, has come over to visit. I find myself with mixed feelings on such occasions. I am glad to see old friends, but what does one talk about after exchanging pleasantries and inquiring about one other’s health, family, and career?

After the formalities are covered and in order to continue the conversation, which is lagging, Raghav asks, “Bhai Sahib (elder brother), how is your research coming along?” Raghav is referring to research I am doing into the psychic powers that some people in India possess. I am interviewing and recording the experiences of many people who are known to have such powers.

This opening naturally provides us with some conversational grist. After listening to the synopsis of some of my experiences, Raghav wonders if I have met Dr. Sinha. I know who he is talking about. A couple of years ago, my good friend Paloo told me about him but refused to take me to see him, saying he was a Tantric, a dangerous man. 

“Oh, no,” Raghav protests, “He is not dangerous. I have taken classes under him at the university, and you will enjoy meeting him. He will provide material for your research.”

I look at Raghav’s face, which is glowing with sincerity and enthusiasm. I don’t need a second invitation. I ask Raghav if it would be possible to go to see Dr. Sinha yet this evening. A look at his watch shows 7:30 p.m., and it is already quite dark outside.

I propose that we go by bicycle, but Raghav rejects the idea because, in his opinion, it is too dark. My mother, who has been patiently listening to this conversation, interjects that it is too late to go visiting.

Allahabad is principally an educational center, well known for its university, and it’s also a legal center because the State High Court is located there. After dark, Allahabad simply shuts down.

“Oh, it isn’t too late to see Dr. Sinha,” Raghav counters with enthusiasm. “He is only available at night under a tree. He does not see any one during the day. Let me see if I can borrow my brother’s scooter.”

Raghav jumps up and leaves before my mother can intervene. I appreciate her perspective. I am visiting her only for a few days in Allahabad, and she would like to have me around her. Moreover, she is not happy because I am getting in touch with people with psychic powers; a dangerous thing in her opinion.

In a short time, Raghav returns, and we are soon on our way to visit Dr. Sinha – if he can be found. “He is not always there,” Raghav tells me.

The wind starts to chill my hands that are grasping the seat of the scooter behind Raghav. I am glad to be dressed warmly in several layers of clothing, although this warmth does not dissipate the spooky chill I feel at the thought of meeting a “Tantric.” I have heard several stories that such people can perform extraordinary healings and mental and spiritual feats. Because of such these abilities, most people are afraid of them. I have never been in touch with them.

Raghav finds the tree where Dr. Sinha meets people on the southwest corner of a street in Tagoretown, a section of Allahabad. Under the tree, there is a cement platform some 15 feet square. On the platform a small temple about four feet tall has been constructed. On the left side, close to where we stand, there seems to be a small bush. The only source of light is a single street lamp some 30 yards behind us. It is the first time Raghav has been here. He is not quite sure of the place. Suddenly, there is a stir in the bush.

“Kaun ho, bacha,” (Who are you, child?) comes a voice from the bush. The voice startles both Raghav and me. All this talk about Tantrics has prepared me to be spooked.

Dr. Sinha is indeed there, sitting with two open black umbrellas over him that we had mistaken for a bush. Raghav introduces himself, and there is instant recognition in Sinha’s voice for this former student.

“Who have you brought with you, child?”

Raghav introduces me. There is an enthusiastic welcome. I am surprised at the firmness and energy of his voice. It contradicts the mental image I have built of the person I was about to meet. He asks us to be seated on the cement platform a few feet away from him.

My eyes begin to adjust to the darkness and, while it is hard to get an accurate picture, I can see Sinha more clearly. He is wearing a saffron-colored robe (saffron indicates holiness). He is obviously wearing some warm garments under the robe and is sitting on a woolen blanket. The two umbrellas provide protection from the elements. Short and stocky, maybe 5’5”, probably weighing 165 lbs, I guess his age to be somewhere in his mid-50s. His beard is mostly white.

Briefly, I describe the research project I am engaging in and my purpose for being here.  He listens intently and, when I finish, he states that, as the host, he will introduce himself first and then he would like to know more about me.

His full name is Keshav Chandra Sinha. He is a Reader (between Lecturer and full Professor) of Hindi Literature at Allahabad University. He has two PhD’s, one in Hindi and the other in Bengali—two of the thirteen major languages in India. He has done thorough research on Gorakhnath, an ancient Hindu saint who formed the Nath sect. Sinha is fluent in Chinese and has done studies in astrology. As a homeopathic doctor he prescribes medicines. He relates several cases that have been cured due to his homeopathic prescriptions. “But the cure,” he states, “does not come from me.” He folds his hands and bows towards the little temple under the tree and says, “It is HE who cures.” Sinha continues, saying he is only a messenger who delivers the appropriate prescriptions.

 He tells me of various places he has visited in India, Nepal, Tibet, and the Himalayan mountains, where he has met sages and seers, some even 500 years old. Such saints shun contact with people. By grace of a mystic contact with some unknown source, he has acquired the ability to see through time and space.

“This is not my power; I am merely a channel.” Again, he folds his hands and bows toward the statue in the temple. “It is HIS grace, HIS Message, HIS power,” and he bows again.

Fees are charged for the transmission of messages, and Dr. Sinha is quick to explain that the money received is all spent for good purposes as directed by the worshiped one—Gorakhnathji. Sinha says he has no need for the money because he has a good income from his teaching job at the university. The money is charged to fend off inconsiderate people who otherwise would be bothering him with trifling matters.

He talks without pausing to think. All this information is fascinating and pertinent to my research and is conveyed in a half-hour, nonstop monologue. His energy pours out with his words, making it impossible to miss his dynamic force. He is not modest about himself, yet there is no vanity. It is as if he is describing someone else to a large audience from a rostrum. He lists all these accomplishments, but the accomplishments are not his, only Gorakhanathji’s—his loyalty is complete.

I had not expected such an elaborate self-introduction, and I am a little perplexed and feel a need to digest all this information.

Abruptly, Sinha focuses his attention on me. “Now,” he commands, “Mr. Mathur, please tell me about yourself.”

In contrast, I give him a brief summary about myself. I feel self-conscious as I talk, but Sinha knows how to make people feel comfortable. He inquires about my parents, about my mother’s school, and quizzes me in-depth about my family, business, and hobbies.

He pays complete attention; no detail is lost. He is amazingly interested and enthusiastic.

“What do you do first thing in the morning?” he inquires.

“I am normally up at 5 a.m. and I go for a walk,” I say.

“But don’t you get mugged? We hear that it is not safe to walk the streets in America.” Sinha tries to suppress his laughter as he asks me the question.

I explain that such conditions exist only in a few places and where I live it is quite safe.

“It must be pretty dark at 5 a.m. How do you avoid the traffic on the street?” Sinha is curious.

With my response that I wear a fluorescent vest, I must now explain: what types of materials are used to make it glow, what other uses are there for that type of cloth, how much does the vest cost? 

I am barraged with detailed questions.

“Does it snow there? Do you go walking even in the snow? How about rain? How hot does it get? What do you wear? What type of shoes? How long does it take for you to cover the distance? Is it a fixed route? What do you do after your walk?”

“I meditate.”

“For how long?” he inquires.

“Forty-five minutes or so.”

“What do you do after that?”

“I have breakfast.”

“What do you eat?”

“A mixture of things boiled in milk.”

“What are they, the things you put in your milk?”

“12 ounces water, 5 tablespoons of powdered milk, 5 raisins, 3 almonds, 1 cardamom, 1 date, 1 fig, 2 tablespoons oatmeal, 1 tablespoon cornmeal,1 tablespoon bran, 1 teaspoon wheat germ, 3 grams fresh ginger, 1 banana, and 3 slices of apple.”

“What is oatmeal and wheat germ?”

I explain wheat germ but don’t know what oatmeal is in Hindi. 

“How did you come to this mixture?”

I kept adding things I liked.”

“So nutritious,” he said.  “How lucky you are that you have all those things available to you, and that you can afford them. We, in India, could not do that. How do you cook it?”

“I cook it for four minutes in the microwave.”

“What is a microwave? How does it work? What all can you cook in it? Does it make foods all taste the same? How do you calculate how long to cook things?”

It takes me half an hour to explain all about microwave ovens. I am getting impatient. Almost two hours have gone by, and we have spent three quarters of that time discussing me. We have not even touched on the subject that I came to discuss. 

As if in response to my impatience, the sky suddenly opens up and it starts to rain. I had not noticed that there were any clouds in the sky.

“Child, you must go home. It is cold and you should not get wet. Your mother will be waiting for you.”

Raghav and I get on the motor scooter and rush towards home. In a few hundred yards, the showers stop as suddenly as they started.