Shailendra remembers his father, whom we all used to call Dadaji
A friend has asked if I could share some memories.
At the river
One of my earliest memories is how Dadaji would wake up early in the morning and go bathe in the river. He encouraged all of us to rise early and join him. I was quite enthusiastic and soon adopted the habit of waking up early too. We would leave the house while it was still dark. The spot in the river where he preferred to bathe was about two kilometres away from our village.
Even though there was a river ghat much closer, just a furlong away (about 200 metres), where most villagers bathed, Dadaji preferred Ramghat, a secluded spot surrounded by small hills. Only a few elders, mostly his friends and other people of his age, would join him there. Among the children, it was just me and my younger brother, and occasionally one or two others.
As soon as we got there, Dadaji would dig out a special type of clay from the hillside, which over time we then learned to do ourselves. This clay had a soap-like effect and was used for bathing, washing our hair, brushing our teeth, and even washing clothes. We first soaked the clay in water, then went for a walk, and by the time we were back the clay was ready. We applied it all over our bodies and let it dry in the sun, enjoying the tightening sensation on our skin before washing it off while bathing in the river.
Dadaji taught me how to swim. He would take anyone to Ramghat who wanted to learn swimming. The water was deep, and although I was scared, there was always a sense of trust and security, just knowing that he was there to look after us.
This morning routine took about one-and-a-half to two hours – walking there, soaking the clay, applying it, bathing, and returning home. In summer, we would often be drenched in sweat by the time we returned and had to bathe again…
Until the age of 18 I had never used toothpaste or a toothbrush. When at 18 I went to live in a hostel, I had to start using them out of necessity, as that clay was not available there. It was also my first experience with soap. That clay had made our hair incredibly soft, better than any shampoo or conditioner I have used since.
Household tasks
Another memory I have of Dadaji is that he did as many small household tasks as possible by himself. This influenced us children deeply, teaching us the value of being self-sufficient and not depending on others for every little task.
One thing, however, that he was always afraid of was electricity. He was concerned particularly about my elder brother, Swami Niklank Bharti, who had a scientific mind and often did experiments. There was always the fear that he might get an electric shock. That’s the reason why for many years my parents delayed installing electricity in our home, even after it became available in the village.
Despite there being so many of us, neither Osho, who was the eldest, nor our father, ever told us what we should study or learn. In fact, Father didn’t even know in which class we were, whether we had passed or failed, or how many marks we had scored. He believed that childhood was for play, and that studies could happen later. Osho himself was enrolled in school only at the age of 10.
Dadaji was never in a hurry for anything. I remember an incident when he had to catch the 5 am train. The previous evening, after dinner, he had packed his holdall, called for a tonga, and left for the station at 8 pm. He layed out his bedding on the platform and managed to sleep despite the crowd and the noise of the passing trains. His calmness and patience in every situation were remarkable.
The collapsed house
Another incident that stands out in my memory is when our newly-built house collapsed – 15 days before we were supposed to move in! When it happened Dadaji was in Mumbai for business. Osho immediately sent him a telegram asking him to hurry back. But he didn’t rush back. He calmly returned according his original schedule, with the reasoning that by coming home earlier he could not have done anything anyway. He even went as far as to thank the contractor, saying that the collapse had saved our lives, because the house could have fallen down after we had already moved in.
Dadaji lived with a deep sense of acceptance, always focusing on what to do next rather than lamenting about the past. This attitude of calm acceptance and selfless action has deeply influenced us.
These are just a few memories of Dadaji which have left a lasting impression on me. He had such a deep trust and faith in everyone. A sense of devotion, an attitude of tathata (suchness). He was always full of joy.
In situations where others would have wavered, become agitated or stressed, we never saw him like that. He remained calm and carefree. Whatever happened, happened for the good – this was his mantra. He applied this philosophy to everything. Sometimes he would say, “We might not understand it now, but later we will realize it was for the best.”
There was no one to blame, no need to point fingers. Whatever happened, happened for the best. We children were so fortunate to grow up in such an environment.
The house divided in half
Daddaji was the eldest of three brothers. I had two uncles: the elder was Amritlal Chanchal and the youngest was called Shikharchand Jain. All three lived in the house my grandfather had built. The shop was below, in the same building.
Chanchalji had a poet’s heart. He was usually deeply immersed in his writings; he translated religious texts from Bundelkhandi into modern Hindi, and wrote songs and plays. So absorbed in his craft was he that he sometimes waved away customers from the shop, treating them as distractions. Understandably, brother Shikharchandji did not like this behaviour, arguing that it ruined our business.
But Dadaji found a solution to avoid conflict. He divided the house and the shop between the two brothers. In any other family, the eldest brother would have remained in the house and the others would have been asked to leave. But my father, to ensure peace, gave each brother half of the house while he moved out and started to live in a rented house.
My B.Sc. in Jabalpur
Another memory, one from my college days. When I went to start my first year of my B.Sc. at Jabalpur Science College, I was dressed as a sannyasin, wearing the mala and orange clothes. The principal, seeing me like that, refused to admit me. “People like you don’t get admission here,” he said.
When I came back home I thought, “Maybe it’s not in my fate to study.” Surprisingly, no one in my family was bothered – not my father, mother, siblings, nor my uncles and aunts. In another household this might have caused tension, but in ours, there was no stress or worry.
Osho had a childhood friend called Swami Sukhraj Bharti (who later passed away). He was concerned about my future, knowing I had been in the merit list at the matriculation and had a national scholarship. He invited me to stay in his village near the river. I was delighted by the idea, and moved to his place. My father, in his usual manner, did not interfere.
Sukhraj Bharti warned me, “That college is terrible, but you can get admitted, even a day before the exams, by paying a small bribe.” So, I attended college four or five months after the classes had begun, just after Diwali.
Despite its bad reputation, that college was a blessing for me. I got to live by the river, swimming several times a day. No electricity, no fan, just nature. As studying was nearly impossible with the many insects, I spent my days in total leisure.
When the exam results came back, I didn’t have the courage to look at them, convinced I had failed. But then a local journalist came to our shop asking for my father. He wanted a photo of me. “Why do you need his photo?” my father asked. The journalist replied, “Don’t you know he has topped the class at University?”
My father, shocked, said, “How come? He was admitted six months late and he hasn’t studied at all!” But the news was true. I too, couldn’t believe it and asked for my papers to be rechecked. The principal, amused, said, “Are you out of your mind? People ask for rechecks only when they want more marks, not less. You’ve topped the University!”
When my photo appeared in the newspaper, my father humorously remarked, “This only proves the standard of the other students…”
He never let pride or ego rise in us, and with his wisdom, he turned the whole situation into a light-hearted affair.
These are the memories of my father I cherish the most. Thank you, Dadaji.
Related article
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