A warm breeze stirred the trees surrounding Swami Baba Raja’s Ashram of Eternal Bliss as the morning devotional broke up and the faithful began their day’s tasks. Up at first light for meditation, followed by group yoga and a light meal, the swami’s acolytes spent two hours chanting his name in order to reconnect to the essential matter of which all things are composed. Then, as part of their spiritual awakening, adherents were expected to serve the less fortunate, which often meant performing as gardeners, cooks, janitors, and maids for the swami’s entourage, or creating the merchandise that the ashram sold to visiting truth seekers — T-shirts, robes, meditation cushions, scented oils, incense, statuettes of the swami, even bottle openers with the swami’s likeness gazing thoughtfully into space.
Inside the jasmine-scented chambers of the holy one, the swami paced with his hands on his hips, his belly protruding through his white silk chemise, as it did when he wasn’t wearing the girdle he reserved for his public appearances. His assistant, the bespectacled man from the prior evening, stood before him, his head slightly bowed.
“You idiot. I have shown you how to coil the chain beneath the trophy a hundred times. I practically had to use both hands to get the damned thing loose. What kind of miracle would it be if I had to jerk the thing from the bottom?” Swami Baba Raja fumed.
“I did it as I always do. I don’t know what the problem was.”
Baba Raja sighed and cast his eyes heavenward. “The problem is I’m surrounded by incompetents. I entrusted a simple task to you, and you managed to screw it up. Is that not true?”
“Perhaps the compartment hatch should have been lubricated more?”
“The chain caught on something, you dolt. Do you not understand? The compartment opened fine, it was that the chain was inserted incorrectly, coiled wrong or something. Which means you didn’t do it right. I trusted you, and you failed me.”
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Baba Raja shook his head. “Must I find someone else to assist me? Would you like to return to your village and work in the fields from dawn till dusk? I could snap my fingers and make that happen. Do not test my patience.”
“Of course not. I meant no disrespect. I suspect that trophy might have been inadequately finished. The compartment might have had some rough edges the chain caught on…”
“It is up to you to inspect every one, is it not? If the base is inadequate, you’re as responsible as the craftsman who made it. Who, incidentally, I don’t want to use anymore. Once is enough.”
The loss of the business for the carpenter who had created the award would mean starvation for his family during lean times, and the last few years had been one of near famine in the region. But the swami had spoken, and as a deity in the flesh, his word was law, as harsh as he believed necessary. Nobody at the ashram presumed to question his wisdom, or they would quickly find themselves back in the world, which would have little use for them in a country with over a billion people scrabbling to survive.
Jadhav, the assistant, had been with the swami for a decade, having earned his position as Baba Raja’s closest confidant through unwavering loyalty and a willingness to carry out the swami’s orders without hesitation. The drugged tiger, the hidden trinkets, all were to preserve the swami’s energy — it was heresy to suggest that he couldn’t perform the miracles with regularity. It was just that it took so much from his essence that he would require long periods to recover, which would deprive the needy of his presence. In the interest of safeguarding the swami’s precious life force, a harmless bit of trickery was necessary. The faithful saw what they wanted to see, the ashram prospered, and most importantly, the swami’s fame continued to grow, ensuring that his vital message of harmony and benevolence spread, offsetting the pervasive forces of evil that threatened the universal balance, and with it, life on Earth.
Jadhav had made peace with his conscience, reconciling that he had been entrusted with the swami’s secret because his faith was strong. A lesser man might have thought less of Baba Raja, but Jadhav was unwavering in his devotion. Still, it was difficult when the swami was on a tear, and he was obviously furious at how the prior evening’s ceremony had gone.
“I will do as you say, Swami,” Jadhav assured him. “Again, I apologize for my stupidity. It was unforgivable, and that you are willing to afford as lowly an insect as myself an opportunity to make amends is further proof of your divinity — not that any is required.”
Placated by Jadhav’s groveling, Baba Raja waved him away with a disgusted frown. He had important matters to attend to, dignitaries waiting for an audience, and he hadn’t slept well after the chain incident.
Jadhav backed away from him, head bowed, and only looked up at the last second so he didn’t trip over one of the priceless Persian carpets that blanketed the swami’s chambers, which were lavish beyond the dreams of a maharajah of old — wood-paneled walls with carvings that had taken a skilled craftsman’s lifetime to create, priceless relics and icons from the past, jeweled vessels crusted with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and pearls. And his most prized possessions, locked behind the thick glass of a custom-built display case that stretched ten feet off the ground: an elaborate gold chain, each link the size of a man’s fist, a legendary symbol of power from the sixteenth-century Mughal Empire; and above it, a statue of a dancing woman, a supplicant at her feet, her eye a translucent ruby the size of a walnut, through which light was rumored to bend so its possessor could see the future.
The swami had managed to become wealthy beyond measure in his fifty-seven years, thirty-five of which he had spent as a spiritual guide and the last twenty one of the most renowned in India. While he never solicited offerings, it was well known that he would gladly accept them, and through his followers’ beneficence he spent generously to provide rudimentary health care for the peasant population from which he drew much of his support. In the process, if he elected to store some of the gifts for quiet contemplation, who could begrudge him, given his selfless charity?
Jadhav pulled the chamber door closed with a soft snap. The carved peacock on it seemed to glare balefully at him, as if even the inanimate carving was condemning him for his failure. He sighed and straightened, resolved to deliver the unfortunate news to the trophy maker before the day was through, and crept on sandaled feet from the holy place, all thoughts but those of the swami’s greatness banished from his awareness.