Sadhu: A Fictional Journey into Light

By Selwyn S. Bhajan

Sadhu is a fictional story about a spiritual pilgrimage undertaken by a descendant of the indenture labourers who came to work on the sugar cane plantations on the Caribbean island of Trinidad. this is a story about a young man's journey to the homeland of his ancestors. Sadhu, the young man from Trinidad, was determined to obtain the ancient wisdom of enlightenment, from Himalayan ashrams and its meditations masters. the story also describes his personal responses to gaining this ancient wisdom and his resolve to share it with others.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Apr 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665703024

Selwyn S. Bhajan

Selwyn Bhajan is a retired corporate executive in the field of human development. He is a published poet, short writer, self-development, and contemplative reflection teacher. He is a trained yoga and meditation facilitator and life coach. He is the founder of Advanced Human-Development Associates (aHa) which conducts courses, retreats, and individualized guidance and corporate interventions in the field of mind body medicine, emotional intelligence, mindfulness, yoga, meditation and corporate leadership. He is certified in Mind Body Medicine from Harvard Medical School.

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Copyright © 2021 Selwyn S. Bhajan.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Archway Publishing

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.archwaypublishing.com

844-669-3957

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-6657-0301-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-0302-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021903361

Archway Publishing rev. date: 3/10/2021

Contents

Section 1: Roots

Section 2: Pilgrimage

Section 3: Discipleship

Section 4: Re-Connecting

Section 5: World Work

Section 6: Sadhu’s Poems

Section 7: Zen Songs

I am the fruit of my parents’ prayers.

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This book is dedicated to my mother, Mina,

who peacefully passed away at the age of

98. She continues to inspire me.

It is also dedicated to those whose ancestors came from India.

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Acknowledgements

Blessings and light to Gillian Rooks for the celestial,

snow-white egret photo on the cover and to my wife,

Lisa, for her insightful, creative recommendations

and delicate water-color illustrations.

Section 1

Roots

Om Shanti Shanti Shanti Om.

"May peace, grace, balance and harmony

cleanse and fill your being."

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People who deny their roots diminish their personal dignity. We cannot choose our birth circumstances but we can choose the footprints we leave on the shifting sands of life and we can seed the legacies we wish to be remembered by. We can carefully fashion our human pilgrimage with sacred prana. Prana is our life force called breath.

My name is Sadhu. My prana emanated from distant India. My ancestors arrived on the Caribbean island of Trinidad as laborers for sugar-cane plantations. I was born in Trinidad. As an obedient teenager encouraged by my parents, I left the island of Trinidad to seek wisdom from the ashrams of India.

On my return to Trinidad, after sixteen years of pilgrimage in India, I decided to honor my parents and ancestors with a shrine - a dome built on a cliff by the ocean where Ganga Mata, mother water, could carry the waves of my family’s devotions from the little island to the shores of sacred India.

Parents

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As a child, my mother had shared with me the story of her journey from India.

She had grown up in the deserts of Rajasthan. Her family were nomads who tended to camels and goats and dug the desert sands for precious rocks with hidden jewels. She loved finding rocks with glowing opals. She would make opal necklaces with strings from dried cactus leaves.

Her parents had taught her to musically tickle drums made from goat skins and to dance the floating, flowing Rajasthan folk wind-dances cushioned by the cool evening desert breezes.

She was betrothed in marriage to a young nomad who loved to quietly roam the sand dunes. He was from a family of oasis pundits who maintained an oasis temple with fruit and food gardens for the nomadic desert travelers. He would sometimes spend days alone in the far desert. He loved the desert silence. He prayed and meditated, allowed himself to be absorbed by desert stillness and desert unboundedness. He loved the night skies, the stars and the vastness of the desert but he dreamt of distant lands washed by oceans. When he heard of indentureship on plantations on the islands in the Caribbean, he convinced my mother to join him in boarding the ships of hopeful souls seeking a new life in a new world. We will return to mother India if things are difficult. In the dark of night, they sneaked away from family huts and joined the ships departing the dockyards at Calcutta.

They would never see India, family or deserts again.

Leaving

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A small bag of clothing. A satchel of opal stones. A tearful midnight departure while elders snored and goats and camels snorted. An early morning bus ride to Calcutta. The coolie lines boarding the ships. The stream of tears and fears of an uncertain tomorrow. Holding my father’s hands as if they were Shiva’s fingers, my mother heard him softly chanting, Om Namah Shivaya. Om Shanti Shanti Shanti Om.

Slowly, over time, as I matured, he would teach me this sacred prayer. He would repeatedly teach me the prayer and meditation mantras his father had taught him in their nomadic desert temple in Rajasthan.

New World

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The journey across the ocean would take several long months during which time she discovered her husband. My mother said she discovered a prayerful young man who loved solitude and ocean gazing. When she was ill and vomiting from the sea sickness from turbulent waves, she leaned in comfort and hope on his chest. When she wept in memory of family, she discovered an unwavering, determined, brave and resolute soul. He was a desert warrior. Later, when they were housed in the plantation barracks for cane cutters, she remembered how optimistic and determined he was on the ship. We will create a new world for our children. We will bring India to the cane fields. We will not forget our motherland. One day we will return to India. We will send our sons to touch the feet of the Himalayas.

Arrival

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At dawn, as the sun spilled its pristine rays of light on creation, they saw the lush green hills of the northern range with spellbinding canopies of yellow poui flowers. They had arrived on the island of Trinidad. It was a tender welcome by mother nature. With their small clothing bundles, the sea-wearied travelers were quarantined on a very small islet off the coast of the larger island that would soon become their home. They were examined by nurses and medical doctors, provided with warm food and tea, allowed showers, resting cots and ocean foot-dipping. They were housed for several days while they recuperated from the exhausting sea crossing. They were then carried on carts pulled by buffaloes to the plantation courtyard in front of the master’s bungalow. There they were greeted by Indians who were already working on the sugar-cane estates and who could speak their native language.

In the distance they could see the white-complexioned European plantation masters who proudly stood on their bungalow verandas and waved at them.

They were taken to their bedrooms in the workers’ barrack cottages.

Dharma

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Now I know why we came here, he lightheartedly whispered to her as they unpacked their clothing onto barrack shelves. They need to remember to chant the Om Shanti and proudly practice their religion.

Later my mother would tell me that after a few weeks on the island my father felt his dharmic duty, his spiritual purpose for undertaking this journey was to remind the scattered human hearts from India of the power of the sanctifying cosmic mantras and prayers from their homeland culture. His tough desert upbringing and his family of pundits had prepared him for this spiritual duty.

Rites

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A thousand days slipped by. This was the stipulated period of voluntary indentureship. After this time of one thousand days of plantation service, individuals could return to India or choose to stay on the island, purchase land and create homes and social communities.

A thousand days when the nomads of Rajasthan planted and harvested sugar-cane, conducted Om Shanti evening mantra chanting and devotional satsangs for indentured laborers sitting on carpets of red blossoms falling from majestic flamboyant trees that spread their embracing limbs over the barrack. A thousand days when my parents tended to the animal stables, cleaned and organized the master’s kitchen, washed the master’s family clothes, walked in the evening coolness with the master’s children, swept the houses of the masters, drove the horse and mule buggies to take the master and his family to the Roman Catholic church on Sundays. As he did with desert camels, my father remembered calming the restless horses and patiently waiting by the master’s carriage outside the charming wooden church with the sunlight glowing on