Maharishi & Me

by Susan Shumsky

The course leader, Kyle Robinson from New Zealand, shouted, “I’m with them.” He descended from the platform and, with dramatic flourish, sat his derriere down in a front row seat. “I’m on their side. We refuse to double up.”

  Dumbfounded, I left the platform—to a chorus of hisses and boos.

  I thought these Initiators would delight in news that the guru we idolized was coming. Instead, my ill-conceived disclosure ended in fiasco. I hadn’t counted on their imbalanced mental state. Meditating ten hours a day had made them hypersensitive and unstable. No wonder Edward had warned me against giving advanced notice.

  The Initiators didn’t know Maharishi’s hand was in any of it. But his hand plus his arm were in all of it. Overtly, he remained the highly exalted, all-benevolent maha-guru, untouched by base energies, while us pawns took the fall. He exuded divine fragrance of jasmine, while we on Staff reeked of fetid garbage.

  Meanwhile, several hundred TM Initiators in Interlaken were in panic mode. There was no choice other than to phone Edward and confess: mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

  “I announced to the Initiators that Maharishi was coming and they would have to double up. They reacted very badly,” I told Edward.

  “Why’d you do that?” Edward asked. “Maharishi told you not to tell them yet.”

  “I’m sorry. I really messed up. I wanted to organize the move in advance. I thought it would be easier—”

  “That was a big mistake,” Edward interrupted. “I’ll ask Maharishi and call you back later.”

  The next day I received a call from Edward: “Maharishi’s very angry about your announcement. Tell them everyone can keep their own private room and Maharishi promises that absolutely none of his precious Initiators will have to double up.”

  Now all the puffed up Initiators with egos engorged to the stratosphere could sit on their assets, feeling validated in their sense of privileged entitlement. “Yeah, it was that bitchy Susan’s idea to force us to double up!” And Kyle, the silly course leader with brainpower about equal to Elmer’s Glue, could gloat profusely.

  Then Maharishi asked me to find hundreds of hotel rooms in Interlaken for the massive incursion of humanity. It wasn’t easy. I suffered for my misguided indiscretion. This was a major task, over which I lost major sleep. And following India’s haggling tradition, Maharishi instructed me to “offer half” of any asking price. Not fun.

  How much easier it would have been to follow Maharishi’s initial instructions. The Initiators would have hated me, but they would have complied. Now they hated me and also lorded over me. Their derision was now justified.

  The time came for Maharishi’s arrival. I told some course participants to move out so I could set aside one wing for Maharishi and his special guests. But, after all that melodrama about doubling up, they begged to double up in Maharishi’s hotel rather than take single rooms elsewhere. Still, some Staff and all new students had to stay in other hotels.

  Debby Jarvis advised me Maharishi always preferred a small bedroom. I gave him a newly renovated corner room, carpeted in red. A large adjoining room, with blue carpet, served as his meeting room.

  Old-time Initiators received preferential treatment—rooms nearest Maharishi and best lecture hall seats. Newer disciples found themselves further away. This was my little brainstorm, which I considered infinitely fair.

  Strangely, I never considered asking Maharishi who should stay where. I was too shy. Instead I tried to anticipate what he wanted. Amazingly, I received few complaints. After all, who would dare complain when it was done so equitably (in my mind, at least)?

  Time passed wonderfully in Interlaken. I enjoyed privileged access to Maharishi due to my position. But I rarely used that privilege. I did a needed service, and I did it invisibly.

  Maharishi stayed for months.

  One afternoon I happened to walk through the hallway from the dining hall to my office. To my utter horror, there was Maharishi! He’d parked his holy self on his holy deerskin on an antique needlepoint sofa in the locked, off-limits room. His skin-boy had found my hidden key.

  The room was boiling over with masses of hungry eyes suffocating Maharishi. Hoards crammed mano a mano on priceless couches and chairs, making charts with marking pens on costly antique rugs, and leaving wet teacups and water glasses on precious furniture. The whole scene resembled a frat party in someone’s basement family room.

  Mortified, I marched up to Maharishi and whispered, “Maharishi, the hotel owner told me we’re not allowed to use this room. It should be locked at all times. It’s filled with priceless antiques.”

  Maharishi laughed at me, waved me off, and continued his meeting. In fact, he proceeded to meet there every day for weeks, damaging everything. The Movement ended up with a massive bill. The hotel manager blamed me, since I was warned to keep the room under lock and key.

  One day Maharishi sent word through his skin-boy Edward: “Announce to the course participants as soon as possible that they must pay an additional $10 fee per night due to the course being extended for a few weeks.”

  Oh great, I thought. Once again I’ll be the scapegoat—the TM ogre. I dreaded making another disagreeable announcement that would make everyone detest me even more.

  That night, right after Maharishi’s lecture, he was seated on the stage, answering questions privately. Jane Hopson, a well-known TM Teacher from Houston, Texas, was chatting with him. I figured this was a good time to make the announcement, since all were still gathered. No one ever left the hall before Maharishi.

  About four hundred of his chief disciples were in attendance. Most were TM Initiators. The remainder were on Staff. I took this opportunity to grab a microphone.

  At that same moment, Maharishi interrupted Jane. He said to her, “Shh, wait a minute. I want to hear what Susan is going to say.” Maharishi snatched his microphone, which he’d previously pushed aside. He pulled it toward his mouth and assumed a stern expression.

  Years later, Jane described this incident to me. At that time she was shocked by Maharishi’s behavior. The thought ran through her mind: “What is so important about Susan’s announcement? It looks like he’s getting ready to close in for the kill!

  After making some minor announcements, I hit the group with, “Everyone on the course will have to pay an additional $10 per night because the course has been extended.” The crowd groaned. “This is the way you will make your payment. Please make your checks payable to—”

  Maharishi interrupted and yelled loudly and sternly, “Stop this announcement now.” Stunned and confused, I looked over at him. Didn’t he just ask me to make this announcement as soon as possible?

  Maharishi addressed the group, “Disregard this announcement. None of my precious Initiators will have to pay extra for their course fee. These people who hang around me, they are not in tune with me. They don’t know my mind. Even my coming here was all confused. It was announced you would have to double up. No. My Initiators are very precious to me.”

  Maharishi’s scathing words hit me like ten thousand daggers, ripping my chest open, stabbing my heart to shreds. Suddenly there was no Susan. There was only a pile of mangled tatters, torn to bits, stumbling off the stage in a daze, all eight hundred eyes in the audience glaring at me with loathing and disgust.

  12

  HEIGHTS OF HEAVENLY HELL

  1974 TO 1975

  The habit of quietly absorbing the shocks will be quite a great help to stabilize pure awareness. The technique is: Just feel not disturbed. The disturbing influence could be a blessing of Mother Nature to develop the habit to make best use out of every situation.

  —MAHARISHI MAHESH YOGI

  Beat by Maharishi’s knockout punch, but not yet down for the count, I tried to make myself invisible as I lurched down the aisle toward the rear exit of the hall. Hundreds of mocking eyes glared, scorching me with condemnation.

  My former best friends now greeted me with disdain. In a matter of moments, my life was in ruins. I was utt
erly disgraced before every TM leader.

  As soon as I reached the hallway, out of sight of glowering eyes, I broke down, sobbing. Only one person came to my comfort—Debby Jarvis, the last person I would expect to show me any kindness. Debby had rebelled when I requested a plane ticket to Europe. She had banned me from Mrs. Whitestone’s home in Brighton and from Maharishi’s private meetings in Squaw Valley and Humboldt.

  Debby is consoling me?

  She hugged me and patted my back. “It’s okay, Susan. You’re going to be all right. He does this to everyone, you know. Don’t take it personally.”

  “Why did he do that? Just this morning he told me to make that announcement,” I cried.

  Debby chuckled. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? Humph. He set you up. Don’t you see?”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “No one escapes. We’ve all gotten busted, but in private—not in front of everyone. He must really love and respect you a lot.”

  “What? Are you crazy?”

  “You must be strong enough to take it,” Debby insisted.

  That night, I entered Maharishi’s meeting room with great trepidation. He shot me a terrifying scowl. I tried to defend myself—always a mistake.

  “Maharishi, this morning I got a message from Edward to make this announcement.”

  “Some people don’t deserve to be guardians of this precious knowledge,” he snapped.

  “But what did I do?” I asked.

  “My Initiators are very precious to me.”

  “But Maharishi, your secretary told—”

  “Never, never speak about money while I’m in the room. You need to go and round. Greta will replace you. Now get out of my sight.”

  I gasped. Tangled and undone, I staggered from the room. Jolted by his brutal expulsion, my mind reeled at the imagined horror of dismissal on the next flight to the USA, never to see him again. My anticipated banishment from his sanctum sanctorum was unbearable.

  Day after day I went about my tasks like a wooden doll. Stiff, rigid, vacant, I could barely talk or even think. It was hard to put sentences together. I averted people’s callous looks, stared at the ground, and dragged around like a ghost, disoriented and bewildered. Time slowed down. I transported into a surreal alternate reality. Nothing seemed real.

  Only Edward and Maharishi knew I was told to make that announcement. Everyone else thought I concocted the fee increase myself. I quickly discovered my real friends. Older, wiser disciples expressed compassion and hinted at their own humiliating Maharishi-ego-busts. Petty youngsters in the “108 Program” turned their backs and tittered as I walked by, arrogant contempt oozing from their brains. I became persona non grata—branded and banished.

  It was demeaning beyond belief. I felt utterly crushed.

  One week after this incident, I visited Maharishi’s room, a big lump stuck in my throat. “Maharishi, you told me to go and round,” I sobbed. “You said Greta would take my place. Where do you want me to go?”

  “Greta? No. No need to go. Stay until we leave Interlaken,” Maharishi said.

  This didn’t make me feel better. The claws of pain continued to rip my heart apart. Something inside cried out, desperate for relief, with none in sight. Little did I know, this ego bust was par for Maharishi’s course.

  At lunch Harriet Fletcher and Leslie Marshall from Australia, two of Maharishi’s closest disciples who worked in both the finance and housing offices, approached. “Can we sit here?” Leslie asked.

  “If you don’t mind being seen with the scourge of the earth,” I said, staring at my plate like a corpse stares at nothing in particular. They laughed and said they wanted to talk about what had happened.

  “What happened is my life is over,” I said.

  “Your life isn’t over. Not by a long shot.” Leslie laughed.

  Harriet said, “During the years I’ve known Maharishi, he treats me alternatively like a queen and a worm. This time he treated you like the worm eaten by the worm. He set you up for the biggest ego slammer I’ve ever witnessed. For him to publicly humiliate you might be the most valuable experience you’ll ever have.”

  “Yeah, if I’m a masochist. Sure,” I said.

  They laughed.

  “Just look at it this way,” Leslie said. “Not only do you get to find out who’s real and who’s phony. You also get to see how you think others perceive you. Maharishi is like a mirror. He reflects your feelings about yourself. You should be grateful. Maharishi knows you’re strong enough to survive such a test.”

  Harriet agreed. “Few people get chastised by Maharishi in public. I’ve never seen him do it to a woman.”

  “Oh, great, I get the prize for ‘only female made a fool in public,’” I said.

  “No, Susan, you’ll be remembered as one of those Maharishi loved most,” Harriet said.

  “Pshaw. That’s absurd,” I said.

  “No, it’s not,” Harriet replied. “I’ve heard him praise you so many times. Sometimes he flatters us. Other times he degrades us. No disciple escapes the ego-stroking/ego-crushing seesaw. Everyone gets it eventually. Living with him is a shattering experience.”

  “You mean I’m not alone?” I asked.

  “Not only aren’t you alone. Welcome to the club. This has happened to all of us,” Leslie said. “The new disciples have no clue. As Maharishi ripped you apart, they thought you actually did something wrong. But we knew it was a setup. We’ve seen it countless times. What these disciples don’t know is they are next.”

  An advanced course for male Initiators was meeting Maharishi in the lecture hall. Joshua Kramer got on the microphone and read a flowery poem. Then a puja began, but not for Guru Dev. It was for Maharishi! At the end, everyone ceremoniously bowed down! Standing in the back of the hall, I was stunned to see hundreds of men on the floor, prostrating to Maharishi.

  … What the heck? Something is seriously off!

  Right after this incident, Maharishi flew off in a helicopter to visit another course in Switzerland. Dr. Lal, Indian Defense Minister under Mahatma Ghandi, was one of the passengers. While landing, the helicopter faltered and fell hard onto the ground. Maharishi considered this an omen that people bowing to him was a mistake.

  At the end of our stay in Interlaken, as Staff prepared to pack up and leave Victoria-Jungfrau, Maharishi told me, in a derisive tone, it was time to “go and round.” I figured, since I’d really screwed up, “rounding” was my punishment (pretty ironic, since I loved rounding).

  As Harriet, Leslie, and I were riding in a Mercedes back to Hertenstein, they told me after the guys performed puja in the hall, Maharishi was furious. They’d never seen him so angry. During a conference call to all Initiators taking courses throughout Switzerland, he went on a forty-five-minute tirade, yelling, “TM is a science. TM is not a cult,” over and over.

  Whenever he could prevent it, Maharishi stopped devotees from the traditional Indian practice of prostrating at the guru’s feet and other forms of adulation. Joshua, Samuel, and John, who arranged that puja ceremony to Maharishi, found themselves on the next plane home. They were blacklisted. I never saw any of them again.

  No one could ever predict Maharishi’s actions. Soon after my birthday celebration in Hertenstein in 1974, he called me to his room. Despite the severe public reaming, I was astounded he still wanted me on Staff. He said, “Now go back to Interlaken and finish managing the courses there. Greta’s coming back here.”

  “But I thought—” I began to say.

  “Susan, the Initiators need you in Interlaken,” he said.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. They need me.

  Once the Interlaken courses ended in March 1974, Maharishi called me back to Hertenstein. After a week he told me sternly, “Now go and round.” It was like getting slapped around, then caressed, then slapped again—on and on and on. But this wasn’t “punishment” or “reward.” It was the guru burning off disciples’ sanskaras (seeds of desire) and vasanas (deeply embed
ded habit patterns).

  After my six weeks of exile, I found myself high in the Alps, amidst evergreens, where air was crisp and oxygen refined. With breathtaking views of Eiger, Mönch, and Jungfrau peaks, Mürren was one of the most silent places I’d ever visited. Maharishi held a Vedic Studies Course at the Palace Hotel. He called me to finish rounding there, so I could participate.

  In that timeless place, where cars were banned, and the only ingress and egress by rail or cable car, Maharishi spoke of the pinnacle of Vedic Knowledge, Vedanta, meaning “end of the Veda”—the supreme knowledge, non-dual Advaita philosophy.

  Maharishi began his course: “The study of the Veda is the study of knowledge. Knowledge leads to action, action to achievement, and achievement to fulfillment. Our purpose is life in fulfillment. We must have the total value of knowledge for the total value of fulfillment.

  “Knowledge depends on experience. If experience is clear, knowledge is profound. The Veda on paper is only the signpost of knowledge. Real knowledge is structured in consciousness. As Guru Dev used to say, ‘The knowledge that is in the book, remains in the book.’ Veda is the blueprint of knowledge, to verify our experience.

  “Richo akshare parame vyoman yasmin deva adhi vishwe nishedhu, yastanna veda kim richa karishyati ya it tad vidus ta ime samasate. The Vedic mantras are structured in the immortal, imperishable absolute pure consciousness, where all the devas [deities] reside. He whose awareness is not open to this field, what can the verses accomplish for him? He who knows pure consciousness is established in evenness, wholeness of life.”53

  After the course, Maharishi said to me, “Now work on high school.” That meant making dozens of illustrations for a student course book: Science of Creative Intelligence for Secondary Education, based on Maharishi’s recent brainstorm for making TM into a science—Science of Creative Intelligence (SCI).

  High school! I thought. Well at least he didn’t say the godawful, dreaded words no member of International Staff ever wanted to hear: “Go to the States and initiate the people.” I hated the chaotic, crime-ridden streets of the United States. I never wanted to return. I loved the refined, orderly, heavenly air of Switzerland, within Maharishi’s celestial circle and divine presence. I never wanted to leave.