[His followers —
men and women who flock to the ashram by the thousands — as well as the ashram
leadership, do not deny that “Maharaj ji” is there, frozen in a chamber. But
they swear that he is alive, having attained “samadhi,” a high state of
consciousness reserved for the holiest of men, beings so evolved they can
control their heartbeat, a state indistinguishable to the unenlightened from
death.]
By Nida Najar
 |
The ashram of Ashutosh Maharaj
in
ordered his cremation,but followers say he is not dead. Credit Kuni Takahashi for The New York Times |
NURMAHAL, India —
Outwardly, nothing has changed at the ashram here, which buzzes with signs of a
healthy, bountiful life.
Tanker trucks
bring water to 200 acres of sprawling wheat fields. Plump cows feed at communal
troughs, a far cry from the skinny animals that populate many of India’s
streets. Workers mill about a pharmacy that sells an in-house brand of
traditional medicines.
But somewhere
inside the ashram, Divya Jyoti Jagrati Sansthan, hidden away in a secret
chamber, is the frozen body of its spiritual leader, Ashutosh Maharaj, who was
declared clinically dead of a heart attack on Jan. 29. The local news media,
using a Hindi word for a holy man, have taken to calling him the “frozen baba.”
His followers —
men and women who flock to the ashram by the thousands — as well as the ashram
leadership, do not deny that “Maharaj ji” is there, frozen in a chamber. But
they swear that he is alive, having attained “samadhi,” a high state of
consciousness reserved for the holiest of men, beings so evolved they can
control their heartbeat, a state indistinguishable to the unenlightened from
death.
“Whenever a saint
goes into samadhi, it is his disciples’ duty to preserve his body,” said an
ashram preacher, Swami Vishalanand, sitting in orange robes under a framed
photo of Mr. Maharaj, whose likeness dominates the ashram’s walls.
On Dec. 1,
however, the High Court of Punjab and Haryana issued a 129-page order citing
the Bhagavad Gita and the Upanishads, and referring to the embalming of Lenin.
The upshot: The state government ordered the cremation of Mr. Maharaj’s body
within 15 days.
The ashram’s
leaders are planning a monthly gathering on Sunday, just before the deadline,
where they expect 60,000 people from all over the state, an event many fear
could lead to a violent confrontation with the police.
The last time
something like this happened, the results were catastrophic. In November, a
powerful spiritual leader, Baba Rampal Maharaj,
who was wanted on a murder charge, fended off thousands of police officers with
the help of an army of volunteers armed with diesel bombs and acid pouches. The
standoff left six dead and many more wounded.
Officials speak
hesitatingly of the cremation order. K. K. Yadav, the deputy commissioner of
the Jalandhar district, which includes the ashram, declined to comment on the
situation, but he told The Hindustan Times that they “will
implement the orders within the deadline.”
A police official
in the district capital, who requested anonymity because he was not authorized
to speak on the matter, said that the police presence outside the ashram had
recently tripled.
“There is a huge
following,” the official said. “They have faith that a dead man can come back.
Their religious feelings can be hurt.” He paused. “Anything can happen.”
It is unclear how
Mr. Maharaj built his empire, but many believe he capitalized on conflict
between Hindus and the state’s majority Sikh population during a decade of Sikh
militancy there beginning in the early 1980s.
The ashram website depicts Mr. Maharaj’s
journey as a beacon in “the darkest period in the history of Punjab,” when
“fanaticism, terrorism and extremism reigned supreme.”
The court’s order
is partly a response to the petition of a man claiming to be his long-lost son
and asking to perform last rites on the body. In it the petitioner says that
Ashutosh Maharaj was born Mahesh Jha in a village in Bihar in 1946. He was
married and had a son in 1972, the petition continues, but deserted the family
shortly afterward and started the ashram in Punjab.
The atmosphere in
and around the ashram is tense. The police said that they were frisking people
entering the ashram. The ashram itself frisks visitors at checkpoints, and no
uniformed police officers could be seen within the ashram’s walls.
Journalists are
kept on the fringes of the site and have little luck getting people to talk.
But in the town
just outside the ashram’s walls, a debate rages.
Shiv Kumar, who
sells cigarettes and other sundries in Nurmahal, said that he had been visiting
the ashram for the past three years, and he credited Mr. Maharaj’s teachings
for an uptick in his business.
“His soul is very
clean,” Mr. Kumar said. “He is in samadhi, and he will come out of it.”
But Harbhajan
Singh, a 81-year-old farmer from a nearby village, was skeptical.
“Have you ever
seen him?” demanded Mr. Singh. “So many people in my village follow him, and
they have never seen him.”
Mr. Kumar
maintained that he had.
“If he’s not
dead, why is he not coming out? Let people see his body. If he’s in samadhi,
why is he in a freezer?” demanded Mr. Singh, his voice rising with each
question.
Mr. Kumar said
that Mr. Maharaj would come back.
“Maybe some
look-alike will come and take his seat,” Mr. Singh said.
Mr. Kumar was
quiet. He said that Mr. Maharaj’s preaching appealed to him, but he would not
say why.
“All his words
are a secret,” Mr. Kumar said. “He is like a god to me. He showed me the path.”
Residents of
Nurmahal described Mr. Maharaj’s followers as being of two types: poor migrants
who took up the services offered in the ashram in exchange for shelter, and
powerful, sometimes politically connected men who helped finance its enormous
operation.
“The politicians
go to him to get votes,” Mr. Singh said. “It’s all power. Migrants from other
states — they give them shelter and get the vote for politicians.”
Even some
supporters are exasperated. Ashok Sandhu, a local businessman with 40 acres of
farmland, two rice mills and a gas station in Nurmahal, has long been a
follower, but he was uneasy with the business of Mr. Maharaj’s body.
“What is going on
there is not in good taste,” he said, adding that many important officials in
the government were followers of the ashram. “Our whole town is disturbed.”
Followers
maintained that the government and the police, some of whom had joined the
ashram, were in a difficult position after the High Court order — unwilling to
execute it, but unable to resist.
Ashram leaders
filed an appeal, which Indian newspapers have said will be decided Monday. To
them, the conversation around their leader is misguided.
“There has been
no talk of samadhi in the High Court,” said Mr. Vishalanand. “We will tell
them, ‘Wait and watch.’ ”
