Devraha Baba

"Devaraha Baba had obviously watched us coming, because he scolded us, when we reached him. It was far too dangerous to cross the river. We should take the bridge, which was about two kilometres up the river. A sadhu, a sort of monk with matted hair piled high up on his head, translated this for us. Baba waved us closer and asked me where I came from. He benignly nodded his head a few times. He murmured a mantra in Sanskrit and asked us to repeat it line by line. Then he instructed the sadhu to give us sugar candies, so many, as we just managed to hold with both our hands. With difficulty, we wrapped them into a shawl, including those, who had landed in the sand. Baba gave us his blessing and sent us abruptly away. He turned to others, who had come by car via the bridge and carried a basket full of fruits to him. Back in my room in the tourist bungalow I noticed that I liked Baba. In fact I like him very much. My heart jumped with joy at the thought that I would see him again the next day—almost as if I was in love, which seemed inexplicable."

"Baba usually sat on the narrow wooden balcony that was supported by poles. One could only see his head with the unkempt, long hair and the aged bluish eyes. His arms were hanging down from the balustrade and he often raised his hands to give generously his blessing. Occasionally he was not there. Then he either was in the small room behind the balcony or took a bath in the Ganga, and all of us, who had come for his darshan, were sitting in the burning sand, from time to time dipping a handkerchief into the Ganges and placing it on our heads to cool down. Sometimes we waited for half an hour and not a single tree nearby to give us shade. The Indians quietly chanted “Siya Ram, Jay Siya Ram”. They could chant those names hundred, thousand and probably even million times without feeling tired."