21-day silent retreat in Jhaltola

Nayana and Prasado’s adventurous retreat in the Himalayas – and they were not eaten by the tiger!

Looking back on the road we had just travelled as we climbed up to the house

After the 21 days, sitting outside my room writing

Prasado and our ‘landlord’ outside Prasado’s room

Shoban Ram outside our bathroom with hot water pot

It was the 90s, Osho had left his body and after a decade of living in the commune, Prasado and I were out in the ‘world’, playing around, actualising the learnings from those years in the Master’s presence. After a few years in New Mexico, we’d had enough of the materialistic American lifestyle. It was time to throw everything in the air and see where it landed, so we packed everything up and took off for India again.

For some years we had had this idea to do a 21-day silent retreat, as described by Osho. But we had always delayed it for this reason or that. Never quite found the right moment. The right place. There’s always a good reason not to go inside isn’t there? But now there was nothing to stop us, so we started to keep our eyes open for a suitable place. Not so easy in the overcrowded noise of India.

After several months of random travel we arrived at Almora, Uttarakhand, a small town in the north of India. There we were introduced to a man who was willing to rent us a place that sounded ideal! So off we set to find Jhaltola. All day the bus wobbled along the narrow, winding road, hugging abysses, playing hide and seek with the snow-covered peaks. The usual bone-rattling, near-death experience of a Himalayan bus ride.

Finally, we got off the rickety bus at the side of the road, apparently in the middle of nowhere. We were met by our cheerful landlord Mr Rawat, proud descendant of the family who helped map the Himalayas all the way up to Tibet. He indicated a small path heading up the mountainside and said, “This way,” as if ushering us into a suite at the Taj. We loaded up our backpacks and followed him up the goat path. Three kilometres up as it turned out!

We arrived on a small plateau, sweaty and out of breath, to see a beautiful old colonial house, with roofed verandah running all around it, over-looking rolling hills covered with flowering rhododendron trees. Picture perfect. With heads tilted we could see the indescribable peaks of the Panchchuli range, covered by eternal snow, shimmering on a backdrop of blue sky. Only at this time of year would they be seen so clearly. Another month and the clouds would gather as monsoon approached.

How lucky we are, we congratulated ourselves. After six months, just as we were about to give up, we have found the perfect place. It must have been divine intervention. Another Osho gift we thought (can you hear him chuckle?).

We agreed a price for a month’s rent, not including electricity and running water, which the house didn’t have, but including a chowkidar*-cum-cook (official job description from Mr Rawat). Shoban Ram spoke hardly a word of English and had a mouth empty of teeth, but would suddenly gesture expansively and burst out with, “All this Maya” and belly laugh. His task was to look after us, cook, serve the food in our rooms twice a day, and boil water on the fire outside for our daily wash (part of Osho’s instruction is to bathe daily). He was to be a silent and invisible caretaker for the duration.

We spent the evening chatting by the campfire with Mr Rawat, who had no idea that we were Osho’s disciples and didn’t quite understand our strange requests for total isolation, but was intrigued despite himself. “I met many different kind of seekers in my life, but you people are among the few true sannyasins in India,” he said, as he pocketed the agreed bundle of rupees and took his leave, back to the town.

Next morning we set out on a walk to familiarize ourself with the surroundings and get the blessings of the local sadhu. Shoban Ram insisted, it was the tradition. The sadhu lived in a small hut another couple of kilometres up the mountain and our caretaker warned us to be careful of tigers. Turns out this loin-clad holy man spoke perfect English as he had once worked for the Indian railways before setting off for a life of introspection in the forest. He was a gracious host with a powerful presence.

“The previous sadhu was eaten by a tiger, and that will probably be my fate too,” he said, with a wide smile on his face, sitting cross-legged in his tiny, smokey, cave-like temple. He happily received our offering of fruits and a pack of cigarettes and gave us his blessings. As we walked back along the winding ridge, surrounded by natural beauty, we again thanked our good luck, Osho, and existence for what was given to us.

We were ready to start the retreat.

The guidance is quite simple. Disconnect from the world, reduce all activity to the essential minimum and divert all energy inward. You can do Dynamic Meditation if you feel to. You bathe once a day (a bucket wash in our case), you eat simple food delivered to your room, you go for a short zen walk keeping your eyes no further than half a meter ahead of your feet. Apart from that, sit or lie with eyes closed, and watch. In the sole company of yourself… and your mind…

Prasado and I settled into two opposite wings of the big house, ready to dive in and meditate deeply. Expecting to reach heights of bliss in our undisturbed Himalayan paradise. But, have you ever travelled in India? It never takes long for a crowd to gather. Even in the remotest areas.

And so it was. Turns out the garden of our usually empty house was a major thoroughfare for the villagers going up and down the mountain to gather firewood. And they didn’t go quietly. They chattered with each other. Shouted to their neighbours on the other ridge, exchanged gossip from one side of the valley to the other. And if this wasn’t enough, the latest news that went from hill to hill was about the foreigners shut up in the house. Coming out of meditation one day I opened my eyes to find faces peering through the mosquito net window, excitedly trying to get a glimpse of the strange strangers.

Ah, the blessed silence of the Himalayas! For this we travelled all this way?

But we are old hands at this meditation business. We can take no notice of these outer disturbances, of course we can! The ego feels quite pleased with itself for brushing off these trivial things.

So we sat in our rooms. The locals got used to us and we got used to their cheerful daily passages up and down. Bliss started to get a foothold as relaxing started to happen, no need to accomplish anything, unless you count brushing your teeth as an accomplishment. The body became relaxed and restful. The thoughts, free from outside triggers were floating here, there and everywhere in a lazy-hazy way. The simple Indian food, cooked on a wood stove, was basic but good and ample, and gratitude was the current mode.

And then… The first niggle arose. On the daily walk, realising we’d made this whole long, arduous trip to the most stunning spot on earth and were not supposed to raise our eyes beyond where the feet walked! I knew that the most amazing peaks of the greatest mountain range on earth were right there. All around, lovely forested hills sprawled from horizon to horizon. And here I am watching my own toes.

For all the beauty and unbounded space outside, we might as well be in a tiny room in a city anywhere in the world, or on the moon. What is the point of all this?

And in clumped the mind with hobnail boots, wreaking havoc.

Without any activity to distract it, I was caught in the world of the mind, and nothing but the mind. From the bottom of despair to the height of esoteric insights, the show went relentlessly on. Days went into nights, thoughts became visions, hallucinations, sleep became wakefulness and wakefulness was sleep. At a certain point, I just wanted out. Enough is enough. I didn’t come all this way for this!

Then food delivery became the centre of existence, waiting impatiently to hear the sound of Shoban Ram coughing to keep the tigers away as he shuffled along with a tray of food. If he came late I felt murderous. If the food was good I showered him with silent blessings. But then, the food delivery became erratic, and it seemed to be made from nothing but herbs and grasses, and tiny mushrooms (I hate mushrooms!). I was hungry all the time, at breaking point, when miraculously we were back to delicious dal and rice, and bliss once more seemed attainable!

(I later learned that the return of food service was down to Prasado, who cracked, despite himself and his desire to stick to the guidelines like a Holy man. He left his room and confronted Shobhan Ram who, shaking and cringing, claimed that the money left by the landlord was finished, he didn’t leave enough. Just as his temper rose like a volcano, Prasado remembered the story of “Take no notice” that Osho loved to tell and simply gave Shobhan rupees and sent him to the village to shop. So edible food was restored.)

But there was still the main problem. Being isolated from the world without any gratifying activity to lure us away, we were simply sitting ducks for the mind’s constant bombardment. There was no escape. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, no way to fight it. Where is the bliss we were promised, the ecstasy? And in this desperation dawned the understanding that this is exactly how it should be. Once again our beloved Master tricked us with promises of bliss, and this time from beyond the funeral pyre. Ultimately bliss, silence etc may be attainable (don’t know, don’t care), but first, you have to sit there like a duck until the mind is truly seen for what it is and you just give up!

I sat on the verandah outside my room and raised my eyes to the Himalayas, laughing madly at my serious efforts to attain, drinking in the beauty of now.

This supreme understanding brought an extreme relaxation, and let-go happened. Suddenly it was easy to watch. No attachment to what comes up, however lovely, deep, beautiful, horrible, nonsensical it might be – and boy the mind is insane! With no resistance the moorings that attached me to a false sense of stability were cut away and I was adrift in an uncharted sea of nothingness, without a clue or a paddle. So Who AM I?

And the real work could begin. All those false voices put into us from the outside, great ideas, condemnations, the whole cacophony we call ‘me’, had to be recognised and released, seen for the untruth that they are. Including the Master’s words. Killing the Buddha on the road suddenly made sense. Everything’s got to go, every crutch and belief thrown away.

Watching all this unfold, in every moment of fear or realisation, I was filled with gratitude to our beloved Master. I could see clearly how much he prepared us for this process and what an amazing blue-print he gave us so we could face the demons, dismiss the angels and just keep going in. Every time another inner chamber opened, he was there to welcome me.

And so, out of nowhere, the 21 days were over. We stepped out of our rooms into an unknown world. A new landscape. We had to meet each other anew, get used to this inner spaciousness, and get comfortable in a world that seemed suddenly strange. And truly, it’s never ended. Even as the world rose up around me, pulling me back into the business of life, the flavour was, and is, just a little bit different. There’s always a small sense of the absurdity of it all that keeps things light, and gives an easy sense of flow, even in the toughest of times.

They were not what I expected, but those 21 days were the best thing I did for myself.

Ever.

Inspired by this experience, Nayana and Prasado have reserved a few cabins on their farm in Portugal to support personal meditation retreats in safe hands. If you would like your own inner adventure, you can contact them at: otefarm.eu

* watchman