Sri Numerami
I felt
excitement and anticipation as I walked through
the narrow lanes of Benares.
It was a few
minutes before dawn, although jostling crowds in
colourful clothing already filled the streets,
their voices blending with the cacophony of tuk-tuks,
ox carts and other vehicles.
I reached the
Ganges and noted the pilgrims gathered on the
Ganga Ghats. Some were preparing to immerse
themselves in the Holy River, others to offer
morning prayers to the rising sun. A few women
were washing clothes, taking advantage of the
cool of the early morning to undertake their
labours.
My meetings
with Hindu, Buddhist and Jain ascetics had
provided much material for contemplation on my
spiritual journey. These holy men had devised
rigorous self-denying disciplines as a focus for
their meditations and to provide an outward
expression of mindful commitment for the
inspiration of others.
Some had never
cut their hair or nails; some had held a limb
aloft for years until it had atrophied; some only
moved from place to place by crawling, by walking
on their knees or by rolling.
Today,
overlooking the Ganges at the temple of Durga, I
was to experience a long awaited encounter with
another of their number, the very greatly
honoured ascetic, Sri Numerami.
Sri Numerami
was eighty-six years old. At the age of ten he
had begun to count aloud from the number one.
Since that day, he had pronounced each next
ascending numeral at approximately fifteen second
intervals during his every waking hour.
As I neared my
destination, I could hear his clear,
unmistakeable chant. ‘…eighty-four
million one hundred and twenty three thousand six
hundred and forty-one… eighty-four million
one hundred and twenty three thousand six hundred
and forty-two… eighty-four million one
hundred and twenty three thousand six hundred and
forty-three…’
Sri Numerami
was seated in the lotus position upon a barge,
moored before the temple. Surrounding him were
his devotees and some of the ubiquitous monkeys
that had made this holy place their home.
He beckoned to
me to ascend the narrow wooden plank that
connected the Ghat with his boat.
I was
unsteadily nearing the top of the walkway when
one of the younger monkeys leapt upon the spot on
which I was about to tread. Stumbling over the
creature, I lurched forward, forcefully colliding
with Sri Numerami. We tumbled together from the
deck and plummeted into the river.
Followers
helped us from the water, and we stood dripping
together onto the red sandstone terraces. Despite
this interruption to his meditation, I observed
that the expression of Sri Numerami continued to
reflect his habitual calm.
He breathed
deeply in and out three times and then spoke.
‘Eighty-four million one hundred and twenty
three thousand… er…’ There was a
pause as he desperately strove to recall the
exact number he had last expressed.
A horrified
gasp arose from his followers as half a minute
passed with no further utterance.
Suddenly, a
smile came to the Swami’s lips which
progressed to a full minute of laughter.
Thereafter,
his countenance once more reflected his customary
peace and tranquillity, and he made his way up
the narrow walkway to reassume his meditative
position.
Sri Numerami
again breathed deeply in and out three times,
then turned towards me and smiled before resuming
his devotional chant:
‘One…
two… three…’
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Photographs
are taken in Benares (Varanasi), India
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