Santoba Powar, or Santaji Pawar, probably lived in the fifteenth century AD in the village of Ranjana in western India, bordering present-day Karnataka and Maharashtra. A lesser-known Sikh saint, he exhorted his disciples to constantly chant "Sat Naam"—"the True Name of the Lord." He was a soldier and administrator in his premonastic life, and he took strict vows of asceticism upon be-
A MONK FOR A DAY
Every evening Keshavdas had the same harsh words for his wife, Kamala. "Your constant nagging prevents me from thinking of God in my own house! If you cannot leave me in peace, I am going to renounce my marriage vows and become a monk."
After making his nightly threat, Keshavdas would retire to his prayer room to mechanically perform his religious rites, his mind fixed on his wife's many shortcomings and wholly insensitive to the contradiction of searching for God while treating others unkindly. If Kamala wasn't making his curry too salty, she was misplacing the relics on his altar after she had cleaned them. And if she wasn't waking him up in the morning by clanging kitchen pots, then she was putting out the wrong clothes for him to wear to the office.
It was not that Keshavdas was evil or that he did not love Kamala. Rather, he was a confused man who lived on the surface of life and believed that happiness was something that lay outside himself. A change in circumstances, he imagined, was the magical solution to all his woes.
Although Keshavdas s incessant chidings distressed Kamala, she was most pained by his accusation that she interfered with his spiritual unfoldment. When she could endure his carping no more, she sought the advice of her guru, Santoba Powar, a renowned renunciant who had given up a position of privilege for a life of austerities and meditation.
"Do not fret," Santoba said with a mischievous glint in his eye. "I promise that everything will be all right if you follow my instructions. The next time your husband threatens to leave you, tell him that you do not want to be an obstacle to his salvation and that he is free to renounce the world. Let Keshavdas know that I will accept him as a disciple."
"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice heavy with disappointment. Even though Keshavdas had caused her much unhappiness, she wanted to make her marriage a success.
"I am quite certain that Keshavdas will be a changed man if he spends even just one day with me," Santoba reassured her.
When Keshavdas returned home that evening, he launched into his usual tirade and ended with the threat of abandoning Kamala for a life of renunciation.
"I am sorry that I displease you so much." Kamala drew a breath as she gathered her courage. "I have spoken with Santoba about how unhappy you are with me, and he said that you may join him in his forest cave."
"You have told Santoba about our marital difficulties? Who else knows about this?" Keshavdas ranted, furious that his imagined reputation as a pious man and model husband might be tarnished by word of his tyrannies at home. Secretly, he was pleased that the famed Santoba had taken an interest in him, a sure sign that his spiritual worth was finally being recognized.
"I spoke only to Santoba and no one else, and I only did so because I could no longer bear to be an impediment in your search for God."
"Enough! Tomorrow I depart for the forest!" Keshavdas abruptly stood up, leaving Kamala to cry over the uneaten dinner she had cooked for him.
When dawn broke, Keshavdas smeared ash marks on his forehead with a dramatic flourish and solemnly put on prayer beads. As Kamala watched his preparations, she was stricken with the fear of being left alone, and she flung herself at Keshavdas's feet, pleading with him to stay.
"I leave you so that I may dedicate my life to a higher cause," Keshavdas said as he pushed her aside. Striding out of his house, he fantasized how he would return as a great sage many years hence to receive the homage of his ignorant neighbors and repentant wife.
Keshavdas set out for Santoba's cave, but, filled with thoughts of his own self-importance, he lost his way in the woods. After several hours of tripping over roots, falling down ravines, and wading through streams, he arrived at the ascetic's abode thirsty, hungry, and exhausted.
"Gurudev, I have come!" he announced grandly, as if Santoba had waited incarnations for this moment.
"Now it is time for your next rite." Santoba's words weighed on Keshavdas. Giving up his clothes was hard enough, and he dreaded what was to follow. "Smear your body with this ash as a sign that you are dead to the -world."
Keshavdas looked uncomfortably at the pot of ash. It reminded him of the dead. But Santoba shot him such a fiery look that he immediately obeyed.
"Now we will meditate for six hours, and afterwards I will initiate you. Do not let your mind wander or your body move, for stillness is essential if you are to be receptive to the great mantra," Santoba said.
From the comfort of his home, Keshavdas had often dreamed of sitting at the feet of saints in remote caves. But this fantasy no longer seemed appealing now that he had to actually crawl into one whose dark corners surely hid spiders and snakes. And spending six long hours in meditation seemed like an impossible undertaking when his few minutes at home were drudgery.
Keshavdas seated himself on a straw mat next to his guru and steeled himself. First, a sharp rock dug into his leg, then his back ached, and finally a fly buzzed around his face. His mind was soon similarly tormented. He had expected to be entertained by celestial visions in the company of Santoba, but instead he was stuck with his wayward thoughts.
Just when Keshavdas felt that he was going to leap up and run screaming into the woods, Santoba stirred, eyes bubbling with joy, a placid smile on his face. And Keshavdas offered a grateful prayer for having survived the six-hour ordeal.
"I trust that you feel peaceful and nourished?" Santoba inquired.
"Well . . . yes," Keshavdas lied.
"Let us begin your discipleship immediately," Santoba said coolly. "Now that you no longer find the charms of the world enticing, you are ready to perform the renunciant's first religious rite. Take off all your clothes and jewelry. A monk has no need for such finery,"
"As you wish." Keshavdas was perplexed. He knew Santoba to be a gentle soul, yet today he was iron and ice. This must be the training he gives to his most advanced disciples, he thought, content to have found an explanation that suited his vanity.
"Now, for your second religious rite: Bathe in the stream at the foot of this hill to purify yourself of your past bad karma," Santoba said.
Keshavdas was eager to do away with lifetimes of sin just by bathing in the river. He ardently performed his ablutions and returned feeling much lighter, markedly more spiritual, and certain that he should have left his wife years ago.
"I would like to get dressed. Where are my clothes?" Keshavdas asked.
"I threw them in the river. What use are they to a renun-ciant?"
"Oh ... I see." Gone were his Kolhapur sandals, gone were his Benares silks, and gone were his gold bracelets and rings! "Has Santoba no sense of the value of these things?" he angrily wondered.
"You have completed your first two penances successfully," Santoba said. "It is time for me to give you the clothes of an ascetic. Worn with the right attitude, these will bring you a satisfaction far greater than the most expensive silks."
Keshavdas pictured flowing robes. Santoba handed him a mealy rag, just large enough to protect his modesty.
"Thank you, Gurudev," Keshavdas forced himself to say.
stared into the darkness, fearful that bloodthirsty predators caused the rustling of leaves, his unperturbed guru chanted verses from some ancient scripture. Finally, Santoba signaled that it was time for bed.
"Where do we sleep?" Keshavdas looked around the barren cave.
"These rocks are our pillows and the ground our bed. We forest ascetics sleep hugging Mother Earth. Soon enough you will become used to our ways. Now go to sleep."
Santoba immediately began to snore. Keshavdas lay awake, thinking of his soft bed at home with its mosquito nets and his wife lying by his side. As he drained the bitter dregs from his cup of self-pity, he found a new appreciation for Kamala. She was, in truth, a loving and selfless woman who cared for him, yet he had returned her kindness with ingratitude and contempt. How he wanted to put an end to this ill-conceived adventure!
"Master, wake up, wake up! I can't take this anymore! I am not an ascetic. I will never be an ascetic. I do not have the fortitude to perform these holy rites. I want to go home. I miss my wife," Keshavdas whimpered.
"I do not keep my disciples here by force," Santoba replied between yawns.
"How can I return to town looking like this?" Keshavdas pointed to his ash-smeared body. He jumped up, terrified that Kamala might not take him back, that his neighbors might have heard of his foolishness, and that his office had found a replacement for him.
"You have been here for just one day, and look at all the problems you have caused me!" Santoba said in rnock aggravation.
"You don't understand!"
I am glad to hear that because today our food comes from God."
"What do you mean, Guruji?" Keshavdas apprehensively asked. He had not eaten since his half-finished meal the previous night, and after spending the early morning walking and all afternoon meditating, he was famished.
"Today we fast," Santoba stated. "But if your body needs to eat, I would be happy to give you my begging bowl."
"I am an important man! How can I go into town and beg for food? And in this loincloth! I cannot do it." Dejected by his dilemma, he sat down chin in hand. Then he had an inspiration. "Can you go for me?"
"You must know that one cannot be a renunciant by proxy. If you are truly giving up the world, then you must forget that you once were a man of means and power," Santoba replied sternly. "As for your food, go to town and beg for it, or find the strength to fast for one day."
What little self-control Keshavdas had, he quickly mustered to squelch his ire. As a government official, he had commanded the respect of his subordinates, as the master of his house, he had lorded over his wife. Yet, here he was being chastised as if he were a bumbling novitiate.
"As a disciple, you cannot pick and choose which rules you would like to follow," Santoba said in answer to Keshavdas's unspoken thoughts. "Go collect some firewood so that we can stay warm this evening and keep away the animals. The walk will do you good."
Keshavdas picked up every stick, resentful that his teacher considered kindling more valuable than his life. As dusk approached and the forest came alive with screeches and howls, he hurried back to the cave, apprehensively looking over his shoulder every time he heard an ominous sound. While he "Please calm down, and I will help you. But before I do, I wish to talk to you."
Keshavdas grimaced, anticipating another humiliation.
"It is admirable that you desire God, but you have erroneously believed that spiritual progress is only possible through the renunciation of familial ties. You have forgotten that the circumstances that you attract are the ones that are most beneficial for your spiritual growth. And when you perform your holy rites, it is your thoughts that should be your only concern, not some outward show of piety. Practicing rituals while the mind remains fixated on others' imperfections is of little value."
"All my years of pujas have been in vain!" Keshavdas moaned dispiritedly.
"The Gita says that no good effort is ever lost. Your habit of daily worship will serve as a foundation for spiritual growth if you are serious about deepening your inner life. You will know you have made real progress when you can endure the trials of daily living with equanimity."
"It seems that it is better for me to be a good husband and practice a little religion than to be an ascetic who dreams about curries and a soft bed," Keshavdas felt as if he had lived many years since the morning.
"Your understanding shows that you are ready for initiation." In Santoba's soft voice, Keshavdas once again recognized the kind-hearted guru that his wife revered. The sage whispered a mantra in his ear and continued, "As for helping you further, I will go to your wife tomorrow and tell her that if an ash-smeared ascetic should show up at her door in the middle of the night, she should not be afraid. It is her repentant husband who has returned, and he is a wiser man for spending one day as a monk."
