Nine Lives(9)

“After the farewell, we were led off for the hair-plucking ceremony. This time we had to do it ourselves, which was much harder. After it was finished—it only took half an hour as our hair was already short—we were given a holy bath in a shamiana tent. We were both stripped and washed by other matajis in a mixture of milk, ghee, turmeric and atta, and then in a final bath of water. For us it was like a baptism. When we both came out, we were given robes of white cloth. Our ornaments were taken off, one by one, a symbol of our sacrifice.

“Then we were led back onto the stage, and told our new names. I was no longer Rekha; for the first time in my life I was addressed as Prasannamati Mataji. For the first time my friend became Prayogamati. Then we were both lectured by our guruji. He told us clearly what was expected of us: never again to use a vehicle, to take food only once a day, not to use Western medicine, to abstain from emotion, never to hurt any living creature. He told us we must not react to attacks, must not beg, must not cry, must not complain, must not demand, must not feel superiority, must learn not to be disturbed by illusory things. He told us that we must be the lions that kill the elephant of sexual desire. He told us we must cultivate a revulsion for the world, and a deep desire for release and salvation. And he told us all the different kinds of difficulties we should be prepared to bear: hunger, thirst, cold, heat, mosquitoes. He warned us that none of this would be easy.

“Then he gave us our water pot and peacock fan, the symbol of our commitment to non-violence, and we were led off the stage for the last time. In our new position as munis, we were led through crowds of people, all of whom were now asking for our blessing.

“That night we spent on the roof of the house where we were staying. The following morning, we got up before dawn and ate—we had fasted all the previous day. Then without telling anyone, we slipped away. We looked for the signs that led towards Gujarat, and began to walk.

“Only then did we really begin our wandering life as fully ordained nuns.”



“Everyone had warned us about the difficulty of this life,” said Prasannamati Mataji. “But in reality, we had left everything willingly, so did not miss the world we had left behind. Not at all. It is the same as when a girl gets married and she has to give up her childhood and her parents’ home: if she does it in exchange for something she really wants, it is not a sad time, but instead a very joyful one. Certainly, for both Prayogamati and me, it was a very happy period in our lives, perhaps the happiest. Every day we would walk and discover somewhere new.

“Walking is very important to us Jains. The Buddha was enlightened while sitting under a tree, but our great Tirthankara, Mahavira, was enlightened while walking. We believe that walking is an important part of our tapasya. We don’t use cars or any vehicles, partly because travelling so fast can kill so many living creatures, but partly also because we have two legs and travelling on foot is the right speed for human beings. Walking sorts out your problems and anxieties, and calms your worries. Living from day to day, from inspiration to inspiration, much of what I have learned as a Jain has come from wandering. Sometimes, even my dreams are of walking.

“Our guru had taught us how to walk as Jains. While walking, as well as meditating on the earth and the scriptures, and thinking of the purpose of our lives, we were taught to concentrate on not touching or crushing any living creature. You have to be aware of every single step, and learn to look four steps ahead. If a single ant is in your path you should be ready to jump or step aside. For the same reason, we must avoid standing on green plants, dew, mud, clay or cobwebs—who knows what life forms may be there?

“Not hurting any sentient being and protecting the dharma is really the heart and soul of the dharma. We believe there is a little of paramatma—the spirit of God—in all living creatures, even those which are too small to see. So much of our discipline is about this: only drinking filtered water, only eating in daylight so we can really see what we are eating. At the end of each walk we do a special ritual to apologise for any creatures we have inadvertently hurt.

“But it was while walking that Prayogamati began to realise that her health was failing. Because she had difficulty in keeping up with me, we noticed that there was something wrong with her joints. She began to have real difficulty in walking, and even more so in sitting or squatting.

“For ten years her condition got worse: by the end, it pained her to move at all, and she had difficulty moving or sitting. Then one afternoon she was studying the scriptures in a monastery in southern Karnataka when she began coughing. Her cough had become worse and worse, and she had begun to make this deep retching noise. But this time when she took her hand away from her mouth she found it was covered in blood. After that, there was nothing more for a week, but then she began coughing up blood very regularly. Sometimes, it was a small amount—just enough to make her mouth red—at other times she would cough up enough to fill a small teacup or even a bowl.