by Chett Vosloo
I was so taken aback by the documentary that I drove home that evening thinking of the hugging saint the entire time. I knew that some way or another, I had to meet her, and what a coincidence it was that I happened to be leaving for India in only a few days time. This wasn’t to be the only coincidence to come, however. When I asked where Amma lived in India, I found out that her village was smack bang on the route that I’d be taking on my trip. Jade told me not to get my hopes up just yet, as Amma supposedly spent eight months of the year touring overseas. Yet still this didn’t put me off. The feeling that I had to see this lady was so strong, if not now, then at least at some point later on.
CHAPTER 12
Maybe I hadn’t thought this trip through properly. What if I got mugged along the way or taken out by a passing truck, and what about all those street dogs in India? What if a pack of rabies-infected dogs attacked me while I was on the road, or sleeping on the beach at night? What the hell would I do then? These were the thoughts playing over in my mind the night before the start of my adventure. For what I was about to do, and the fact that I didn’t have any support with me, I guess these doubts were all perfectly normal and to be expected.
The following morning when I set out from Arambol, a small hippie town in the north of Goa, all my nerves instantly disappeared. Now filled with nothing but a rush of excitement for what was to come, life as it had been for me a few weeks before in South Africa seemed like a lifetime away. How happy I was to be back on the road and to feel this alive and free again.
The small province of Goa, roughly 140 kilometres from top to bottom, is well known for both its beaches and its nightlife. With so many foreigners passing through Goa each year, it meant that I could at least ease my way in to the trip and not feel as though I was diving in at the deep end. With one beautiful beach after the next, I decided to run on the beaches as much as possible and to only run on the roads when I had no other choice. There were so many beach huts and bungalows along the way, therefore finding a place to sleep for the night was no big deal. If I couldn’t find anywhere to stay, I did have a small sleeping bag with me just in case I had to sleep on the beach for the night.
My run across Goa turned out to be relatively straightforward in the end. My only real obstacle in the beginning was the heat. Even though it was now the middle of winter in India, the south of the country was still very hot and humid. To make things easier on my body, I tried to leave early in the morning and to cover the 20 to 30 kilometre distance that I ran each day as soon as possible. This way I could stay out of the midday sun and give my body as much time as possible to recover.
***
Karnataka, the second of three provinces I’d have to run through on my way to Kanyakumari, was very different to Goa. Gone were the days of seeing hoards of backpackers and beaches built up with one beach resort after the next. This was real India for sure. The beaches in Karnataka were long and picturesque, but what they didn’t have was the infrastructure. The small eight litre backpack that I had with me was only big enough for the bare essentials, which meant that I had to make regular stops each day for both food and water. With not a restaurant or shop in site, sometimes I’d run for ages on the beaches and not see anybody at all. Nine out of ten times, when I did pass someone it was an Indian man either fishing or taking a shit on the sand. I saw the same thing many times. First the man would dig a small hole in the sand, squat over it and do his thing looking out into the ocean in front, and finally he would waddle down to the water with his lungi (traditional clothing worn by men in the south of India, resembling a sarong that wraps around the waist) so that he could clean his backside in the water with his left hand. At first I was shocked to see this and I didn’t quite know where to look when I passed by, but in time I became so used to seeing the beach being used as a toilet that I would even greet them on my way past. “Good morning! Nice day today, isn’t it?” I’d say with a grin, and a little wave of the hand. With all these human landmines on the beaches, it did mean that I forever had to watch where I was going, as there was always the chance of me standing in the wrong place. However, saying that, it could have been far worse as more often than not the Indian men were at least sensible enough to dig their hole and squat down close enough to the ocean so that when it was high tide the waves would clean the beach. As appealing as it may have sounded in the beginning for me to run the entire way to Kanyakumari on remote beaches, it just wasn’t practical. So in the end, I eventually decided that I had better move off the beaches and run along the roads instead.
***
I was happy to discover that the roads in Karnataka weren’t quite as chaotic and treacherous as I’d imagined them to be. The taxis racing by, the truck and bus drivers honking their hooters to let you know that they were there, the pollution, the smells that always reminded you that you were in India – it was all still there, yet still the heat was my single biggest obstacle. If I left at seven in the morning and ran at a steady pace, I figured that it would take me around three to four hours to cover the distance, but what I hadn’t thought about was that a white man running through India wasn’t something the locals saw every day. Indian men, curious to know what I was doing, were always stopping me and wanting to know where in God’s name I was going. The two questions they’d ask me were always the same. “What is your good name?” and, “From where are you coming from?”
“From where are you coming from,” which would be asked in a thick Indian accent and with their heads bobbing from side to side, didn’t mean where did I start my trip, but rather which country did I come from. These constant stops and starts meant that what should have taken me three or four hours would often take me around six hours in the end.
In the afternoons I’d take it very easy, an afternoon nap, a swim in the sea, and then in the evenings my favourite thing to do was to eat local food at the street vendors, drink a few cups of chai tea, and then pull up a chair and watch life pass me by. I may well have been staying in cheap and dingy hotels, living in the same smelly clothes from day to day, using my left hand to wash my backside after going to the toilet, but how long had it been since I had felt this happy and free in my life? Of all the many lessons that I would take with me from my adventure in India, one of the greater lessons was to remind me how little I needed to get by and how good I felt when my life was kept simple and uncomplicated. I had an experience on the road one day that beautifully summed up how simple life could be.
Running along, I noticed a gathering of people standing at a barrier and all looking down over the edge. When I saw this my heart sank as I was sure that there had been an accident. Maybe a motorbike or a car had gone off the edge. When I got to the gathering of people and walked to the barrier to see what had happened, all I saw was a big grader digging a hole. This was their entertainment, to stand there and watch the machine at work. What a deep impression this relatively insignificant event left on me. Sure, these Indian people would more than likely never have the opportunities and the experiences that I had in life, but how simple and innocent their lives were in so many ways. I’m willing to bet my life on it that they didn’t have the constant ups and downs that I had, and I am also willing to bet that they didn’t know what it was like to have a panic attack.
***
My time in Karnataka was mostly the same daily routine. I did, however, get to shake things up when Nathan, a good friend of mine from back home, came to meet me for a few days. Nathan, who I had known since childhood, was a great athlete and so for him to run 20 to 30 kilometres per day was no big deal. It was the culture shock of being in India for the first time that took him some time to get used to. A few days after he arrived we happened to pass through a hippie commune. Sure, I had seen a few hippie communes before and so it was nothing new, but what made this one different to the others I’d seen in the past, was that many of the people there were butt naked.
We arrived at the commune by boat a little after lunchtime. The first thing that caught
my eye as our boat pulled up onto the beach was a bunch of people swimming and sun tanning naked. I even saw one tall, blonde-haired guy nonchalantly standing there juggling kittles without a stitch of clothing on. Nathan and I were soon told that at sunset there would be a game of beach soccer, one team naked and the other in clothes. If a game of naked soccer was how we were going to kick things off into the evening, then I could only imagine what was to come... a big bonfire on the beach later that evening with the moon towering above, somebody strumming away on a guitar in the background, drums, magic mushrooms being offered around freely... and, last but not least, a whole bunch of beautiful naked ladies dancing around the fire with the bells from their ankle bracelets jingling in perfect rhythm to the music. It was going to be great! I mean, how else would a bunch of hippies spend the evening? In the end, however, it turned out that my imagination had run a little too wild as things were far more low key. The beach soccer didn’t happen, there was no bonfire, and I certainly didn’t see any naked ladies dancing around on the beach. Instead, Nathan and I had a few beers, grabbed a bite to eat at the restaurant overlooking the ocean, and passed out not long after that. We left early the next morning to get back on the road, but I couldn’t help but wonder how things would have turned out had we stayed at the commune for a few more nights.
“Hey, Nathan,” I said as we ran side by side. “What do you think? You think we’re making a big mistake by leaving the commune so soon?”
“I was just wondering the same thing...”
***
A few days after my 31 birthday, I passed through a town and saw posters of Amma everywhere. Had I not seen the documentary about Amma before leaving for my trip, I wouldn’t have known who she was, but I recognised her right away. I eventually decided to stop and ask someone why Amma’s picture was all over town. The Indian man I spoke to told me that it was because she was going to be passing through in three days time. This was it. This was my chance to see the hugging saint.
I caught a taxi to the venue in the late afternoon on the day of the programme. Nathan had already left India by now and so I went there alone. When Amma arrived, everyone stood to welcome her. Amma, dressed in a white sari and with her curly dark hair tied in a bun, looked shorter in real life than she appeared in the documentary. Slightly chubby, Amma had a really motherly look to her. This was the first saint that I had ever seen in my life, so I didn’t quite know what to expect, but on the surface at least, she looked utterly normal. This was only my first impression, though. It wouldn’t take me long to realise that Amma was anything but normal.
Seated on a slightly elevated podium, Amma spent the first half an hour giving a spiritual discourse. She spoke in Malayalam, the local dialect, so I didn’t understand a word of what was being said, but it still felt great to be there and to be part of it all. I was so intrigued by Amma that I hardly looked away from her the entire time. After the spiritual discourse the entire crowd, led by Amma, sang devotional songs for the better part of an hour. I was amazed at how she sat there singing with her eyes closed and her body rocking from side to side as though completely unperturbed and oblivious to the fact that there were thousands of people watching her every move. There was so much devotion and feeling in her singing that I couldn’t help but feel inspired myself.
After the singing had finished, two lines immediately formed on either side of the stage. It was now time for Amma to start giving hugs to all those who were there to see her. With so many people at the programme, of course it was impossible for everyone to go up for their hug at the same time. Each person was therefore given a token with a number on it. Only when your number was shown on the board at the side of the stage could you go and stand in line. The token I was given had the number T2 on it and I was told that my number would only come up sometime after midnight. This was no problem, though, as I was in no rush and had all the time in the world.
With a few hours to wait before my number came up, I was curious to find out why all the Westerners were dressed in white. The person I went to speak to was a fairly young American guy by the name of Chris. Chris, who had been a follower of Amma for many years, told me that all the people in white were working as volunteers on the tour. At the start of each year, Amma spent the first three months touring through both the south and the north of India. Stopping off in cities and towns along the way gave hundreds of thousands of people, who would otherwise be unable to, a chance to see Amma. To manage each programme required plenty of helping hands, and this, said Chris, was where the volunteers came in. They were there to assist with whatever needed to be done, like setting up the venue, controlling the crowds, working in the kitchen to help with the food that was freely given out, and all the other work that went into each programme.
“What is the reason why you all in white?” I interrupted.
“It’s just one of the things that they ask the volunteers to do,” he said.
It may have been jumping the gun a bit, seeing as though I had just laid eyes on Amma for the first time, but alarm bells were ringing within me that I had to be on one of the future tours.
“Who can volunteer?” I asked Chris enthusiastically.
“Anyone. It’s open to anyone.”
I nodded back at him excitedly before focussing my attention on Amma.
“What time do you think the programme will end tonight?” I asked.
Chris explained that there were usually two programmes per day. The one during the daytime was held from 10:00 am until 5:00 pm, and then the evening programme ran from around 7:30 pm until 6:00 am the next morning. This, I worked out, would mean that Amma would be hugging people for well over 12 hours.
“Do you want to know what’s even more impressive than that?” said Chris, as we both stood there looking across at Amma in awe. “During the time that Amma is hugging people she doesn’t stop for breaks, not to stretch her legs, nor to eat a meal. She just goes on and on until the last person has been hugged.”
I again shook my head, wondering who this superhuman woman really was. To do this week after week, year after year, I knew, was completely beyond normal human capability.
“Hey, why don’t you go and sit on the stage behind Amma and watch her give darshan for a while?” suggested Chris.
“Darshan?” I asked unsurely.
“Yeah, darshan... Amma giving the hugs. It’s called darshan.”
“I’m allowed to do that?”
“Of course. It might be a bit of a struggle to find a spot on the stage, but just wrestle your way in there.”
It took me a while, but I eventually got a spot near the front of the stage. Sitting with my legs crossed and people all around me, I watched Amma intently. She must have been no more than fifteen feet away from where I was sitting. I noticed that after Amma hugged each person they were given a small piece of candy. The lady sitting next to me explained that this was called prasad. Prasad was like a special blessing that Amma gave to each person. What amazed me was to see how so many of the people receiving their hug – both men and women – would burst into tears in Amma’s arms, and not just a few tears. Some of them would sob like little babies. Again I wondered who this lady was who just had to touch someone for them to break down in tears. I had never in my life seen anything like it before.
***
After sitting on the stage and hanging around speaking with other people, I noticed that my number had come up on the board. The time had just gone past midnight. The line moved forward quickly and I soon found myself standing a few feet away from Amma. It was only now that I was right close up to her that I saw how mesmerizingly beautiful she actually was. It looked as if she was glowing and light was pouring out of her. I would have been happy to stay right there where I was and to carry on looking at her, but the line kept moving forward and so before I knew it, it was my turn to get a hug from Amma.
The next few seconds raced by as if it were all a dream. Amma pulled me into her arms and, with my head now resting against
her shoulder, she whispered, “My darling, my darling, my darling,” into my ear. It was only when I leant back, that Amma made eye contact with me for the first time. Her face lit up and she gave me a big flashing smile. It was such a warm and embracing smile that I instantly and helplessly fell completely in love with her. She looked at me with such familiarity that it was as if she knew exactly who I was and had been waiting for me to arrive. The funny thing is that she didn’t feel like a stranger to me either. Not only did Amma have a magical smile, but there was something very intriguing and captivating about her eyes. I had never seen eyes like hers before. They were sparkling and crystal clear. Looking into them was like looking into a portal into another world. How nice it would have been to carry on looking into her eyes, her beautiful smile, but then I felt hands pulling me away from Amma and gently pushing me through the funnel of people standing below. My few seconds with the hugging saint had come to an end, but what an incredible experience it had been.