Already In Trouble

Yesterday felt like hell. Only I think there are many degrees of hell, and I suspect they are even worse.
The bus dropped us off at the stadium where Amma’s program was being held in Kannur. And it is just as well that it left straight away or I would have turned around and gone back.
I mean back home.
Amma was not due for another three hours but the huge stadium was already half full and busload after busload kept arriving. Cheerful, friendly people willing to wait for Amma for however long it took. By the time Amma arrived at six thirty, over forty thousand Darshan tokens had been given out and there were more than twice that number of people in the stadium, peacefully waiting for their turn to be in Amma’s arms. This was the first time I saw Amma at a public program in India, and I was overwhelmed.
Taking my newly acquired apron out of my Mary Poppins bag, I followed my vegetable chopping companions as we searched for the kitchen. When we found it just outside the stadium, we discovered that there was to be no veggie chopping needed that day.
Good, I thought. I didn’t much fancy being in that hot, makeshift kitchen for three hours anyway, and I set about looking for a bathroom with one of the two women, a German lady who had lived at Amma’s Ashram for years. And it showed, for when we found the bathrooms on the other side of the stadium, the line was long and deep, and while I was horrified, my companion was unperturbed.
“At least there is one bathroom,” she said, her countenance perfectly serene. And I wanted to tell her to get off her saintly pedestal and be real, but I didn’t.
I didn’t want to be in the sun, in that line, waiting for my turn to pee. But what choice did I have? None. Actually that’s not true; I could accept the situation gracefully and concentrate on something else. But it is not easy, not when one is used to having one's needs met almost at once as we are in the West. And we think that it is something to be proud of. Impatience is something we wear like a badge of honor.
Anyway, taking pity on me because of my badly swollen feet and ankles, the woman I was with suggested I sat down while she waited in line. And I sat on one of the police chairs in full view of the bathroom. In time, about thirty minutes later our turn came. Walking away afterward, I thought in despair of when I would have to go again, “But maybe I won’t stay too long” I told myself. And then I discovered that there were two buses going back, one at the end of the program and the other at two am. My heart sank, but I gritted my teeth and drank very little: even then I would have to use the bathroom three more times, and, as the day progressed, my body started signalling that it was getting ready to spend what it had been saving up for two days. And it was more than a penny. As I rolled the Prasad near the stage later on in the evening, I prayed that when the moment came, I’d have the strength to stand in line and hold my own, wait while I squatted. I was way out of my comfort zone, forced to reach deep within to find the resolve to cope. And yet I was also in awe at being part of the group of people who travelled with Amma.
Sitting behind her chair later in the evening, timing those who handed Amma the Prasad, I watched as one by one the thousand upon thousand who had come for her Darshan, were taken into her arms. I cried with gratitude that whatever else I had been through in life, or whatever I was going through on this journey, I was at this very moment within touching distance of the Guru. And when my turn ended, I did touch her before making room for the next person.
When the bus came at two o’clock, I could hardly walk with exhaustion. I made my way out of the stadium, but Amma stayed and so did the thousands still waiting in line for their turn to be in Amma’s arms.
I fell into my seat on the bus, a thousand uncried tears crowded my breast, and no longer able to suppress them I sobbed helplessly. When I gave birth to my first child I had also felt helpless. The epidural had not worked and the pain of each contraction felt as if it was going to kill me. But my daughter was going to be born, the labour could not be stopped, and the only way out of it, was through it. I experienced the same helplessness when I stopped smoking. There comes a time when tomorrow has to become today and the work has to start.
By the time we pulled into the courtyard of “home”, it was three in the morning, yet I couldn’t go to sleep without first washing off the brown dust that clung to my hair and body. Afterwards I was glad to lie down, albeit on the floor and for the first time in a week, I slept.
When I got up the following morning, Amma was still giving Darshan until the last of the thousands got their hug at eleven forty-five in the morning.

And today is another day.