Three months in Rajneeshpuram

From Chapter 24 of Chitbodhi’s memoir, One Life: A True Account

Now news arrived every day; Osho had gone to New Jersey, a state in the USA, and was waiting there until he could move into the new commune, which was just being started in Oregon. Sheela had bought over 64,000 acres of near-desert, in the middle of nowhere, known thereabouts as the Big Muddy Ranch. It had once been used as a location for Western movies starring John Wayne.

When Osho moved to Oregon, the commune invited American sannyasins to come work and live there. People from other countries couldn’t be welcomed yet because of their immigration status. A tourist coming to the States is allowed to visit, but definitely not work.

The first movies were shown in the Cologne Center of the land and the progress in building. The commune was preparing to grow, grow fast to a size of 5,000 or even 10,000, who’d be able to live on this new land. For July 1, 1982, a festival was announced – the first opportunity for visitors to come and see this new community.

Sure, we were all waiting. The Center in Cologne actually got the money together to pay the tickets for over 130 people to join the Ranch for one week. Returning to Cologne, high on seven days of experiencing this wild experiment, I was sure that I wanted to go back, live and work there, as soon as possible.

The opportunity came in February 1983. The Ranch announced a program, VSP, for sannyasins who worked in Rajneesh centers around the world to come legally for six months. Ramateertha, the center leader, gave me the go-ahead and I just had to pay my airline ticket and $1,200 – explicitly for covering health insurance.

Rajneeshpuram, March 30, 1983

Can anybody imagine how it would be if 1,000 people arrived in the middle of nowhere, into the most beautiful landscape right out of a cowboy movie, with one old farmhouse on it – land so barren that only juniper trees and sagebrush could survive – with the ambition to build a city within two years? So that 5,000 people could work and live there in the best American standard of organization and cleanliness?

I think that nothing like it had been done, or even attempted, in the past thousand years of human civilization, and certainly not to the standard we did it. The first residents had started work in September of 1981, and now, in March 1983, I was part of it too.

It was just fucking incredible. A small bus had picked us up at Portland airport, and arriving on our land I had tears in my eyes. The progress that had been made in 18 months was just mind-blowing.

An airport had been built to land passenger planes. A road system with modern canalization had been laid out, used by pickup trucks, modern earth-movers, and by a perfect free bus system, run with old American schoolbuses. A lake had been created near the beginning of the property, a creek – a small river really, one meter wide – cutting the 5-kilometer-long valley in half. Everywhere in the side valleys, small clusters of trailers, or A-frames we had designed, that could be interconnected in twos and fours.

I had arrived in a striving settlement of a new kind, a new city, built with love and harmony and the will to create beauty.

I was assigned a bed in Walt Whitman, a small colony of A-frame houses in a side valley. There was a shower and toilet trailer about 150 meters from my small house.

My first job

Work started next morning. My first job, you can already guess: dishwasher in a small restaurant called Nagarjuna. Three crazy cooks: Françoise, a 3-star French chef; Gita, a very tiny Japanese woman, and one big Black guy who’d earned his 5 stars in American diners and McDonalds, making hamburgers and all sorts of stuff for people to eat.

Work for me started at 12 and went until midnight, with a lunch break from 2:30 to 5:30 – a lousy time for a break because everybody on the Ranch had already gone back to work after their lunch break.

I was crazy busy from 12:30 to 2:30, then lunchtime, then again from 6 pm until closing. But I was entertained the whole time by three nuts: a French chef magically creating dishes in seconds that anybody in Paris would have paid $500 just to stand in line and watch; a Japanese always smiling, creating sushi, and a big Black monster, always grinning, and juggling his burgers with 5-star grace. And all in a 4-by-4-meter kitchen.

I just loved to work there. In my lunch break I was bored at first, 2000 people working and only we few on a break. After a few days I decided to use the time to explore the various side valleys, following small pathways probably created by water, or maybe animals, wherever they led.

I’m German. Coming from a country where everything is beautifully organized and square, and where even a wild-seeming tree has been planted according to a plan, placed to grow in a particular spot. Luckily so far nobody has made a tree grow square to better fit on a truck!

Walking in the hills

I’d never in my life seen a snake in the wild. Only in captivity, in a glass jar at school, when my 6th-grade teacher explained that it was a poisonous German snake. The wildest animals I ever came across in Germany were hares, who probably today are also desperately fighting for their survival.

Walking in Oregon’s wilderness, passing cliffs, rock formations, following dried-up creeks, pushing my own path through meter-high grass, climbing a hill to the big lonely juniper tree right on the top, was an incredible experience. And yes, there where sounds everywhere, left and right, wherever I walked. Nature sounds. I never saw an animal in those first four weeks. They were probably avoiding this clumsy German stumbling around in their territory. These sounds, I always thought were crickets – I knew the sound of crickets from Germany, but really, had never heard a cricket making this particular sound, but then… I figured it must be them.

At midnight, after work, two small trucks picked us up and drove us back to our dwellings. I always asked to be dropped last, or second last, in Walt Whitman. I really enjoyed being driven through the now-asleep Ranch, almost all activity gone to sleep.

In the morning, everyone in Walt Whitman would leave at 6:30 for breakfast. I was the only one having the luxury to sleep in.

The rattlesnake

One morning I got up around 9:30, walking half-asleep down to the shower trailer. Jeans, Nike sneakers, towel over my shoulder, a little toiletry bag in my hand – you know, toothbrush, toothpaste, razor and condoms. Halfway down I noticed what a beautiful day it was, sunshine and cold crisp air. My right foot was just about to touch down when I saw it: a snake, coiled up, enjoying the sunlight, just under my Nike.

I stumbled back, three, four steps, just avoiding stepping on the snake. I stood there – in shock – staring at it. The snake, equally in shock, slid back two, three meters, now fully awake, head up, ready to strike. We stared at each other. I watched her thin tongue, then heard the sound from her slightly-raised tail – a sizzling. That same sound that I had attributed to crickets.

And it hit me: four weeks walking in the hills, three hours a day, surrounded not by crickets, but snakes! And lots of them…

Our frozen state, locked into each other’s eyes, lasted maybe 15 seconds. She then decided to leave, and disappeared into the grass. I still couldn’t move. I just stared at the empty spot where she had been.

At 12, when I arrived for my shift, first thing I asked: “A snake that makes this sizzling sound, is it dangerous?”

The Black guy looked at me in amazement. “A snake with a sizzling sound? Haha, sure. That’s a rattlesnake. We have lots of them here. Very dangerous.”

“Really?” I said. Only a German can make such a comment, someone who has no fucking idea about snakes. I had to sit down for a moment, digest the info that all the time I had been surrounded by one of the most dangerous snakes.

“Didn’t you know that? We even have a special department that collects the rattlers if they are reported in some trailer or workplace. They catch them – sometimes ten, fifteen a day – and drive them 15 km out of the Ranch and set them free.”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“Now you know. Stay away from them.”

You can now guess: after that day I never again went out on a walk in the wilderness…

Raidas Moving Crew

After 6 weeks of dishwashing, I joined Raidas, the cleaning department. We cleaned the living spaces, toilet trailers, distributed cleaning supplies, moved furniture and people’s stuff, and did a few thousand other odd jobs that came up daily.

I was put in charge of cleaning a big shower and toilet trailer, all by myself. Not in Walt Whitman where I slept, but in the next valley, where there was a much bigger residential area called Alan Watts, A-frames connected with each other in fours, some placed on steep slopes.

I loved that job, alone all day, except once a day when the supply van arrived to drop off toilet paper and such things. Sometimes the cleaning crew dropped by my toilet trailer, and we sat on the steps and had a chat.

Unluckily, only a few days later I had to report to the center of power, the headquarters of Raidas – to the woman in charge, Padma. After talking with her for a few minutes, I was assigned a new job: joining the Raidas moving crew. The truck was already waiting for me outside. Not a truck really… they had taken all the seats out of an old yellow schoolbus and used it for all kinds of odd jobs. Two guys and one woman were already waiting for me. The crew was now complete and we could start our day’s work.

As soon as I stepped into the truck I knew a new adventure had started. All during the next months I had to pinch myself; I could not believe the fun we had together, cruising the Ranch and working on all these odd jobs that needed to be done.

Just to mention a few: a new resident had arrived and we had to prepare his bed with new sheets, check if all cleaning supplies were stocked up. When a delivery truck to the small settlements had missed a toilet trailer, the cleaner called Raidas and we had to take there what was missing. Desks and furniture had to be moved around, and a few times we had to go to our recycling yard to pick up some wooden floorboards.

At the recycling yard I met the famous Satyananda, ex-political journalist for Stern magazine, one of those guys who used to travel the world interviewing famous politicians who steer our world into harmony and peace…

He was responsible that, in 1978, I had joined this crazy bunch of people. But I don’t blame him. On the other hand, millions more had read his article in the magazine, and most of them didn’t go to check out Osho.

I remember him meticulously prying the nails out of 2-x-4s with a claw hammer, straightening the nails and sorting them by size.

I didn’t have any money under the VSP program, not even a dollar. But then you didn’t need any. Cigarettes were free for smokers, buses were free, and there was great food, every day. And your laundry was done. What would you need extra money for?

The medical insurance

After four months on the Ranch, now working in Zarathustra, the cleaning department’s warehouse, I suddenly got very sick. I came down with a high fever – it was just a very normal, but bad cold. One morning, when I arrived at work, I realized I was too ill to do anything, so walked over to Pythagoras, our medical center, to see a doctor and get some medicine.

At the reception desk they checked my name and my program. I was on the VSP program, which included free medical visits. But I was in for a surprise, when the woman behind the desk, pulling out a sheet of paper, said to me, “Sorry Chitbodhi, your medical insurance has been canceled. That’s according to this memo. Which means that you have to pay if you want to see a doctor, and for the medicines.”

This couldn’t be! For this program I had paid $1,200, explicitly to cover my possible medical expenses. I started arguing, but she didn’t yield. A memo is a memo! She even gave it to me to read. Fucking shit! I didn’t even have a dollar in my pocket – and they didn’t want to treat me…

I stood outside the Medical Center, not knowing what to do next. Floods of rage, anger, sadness, and disappointment started filling me inside and out.

I started talking to myself, and my body started walking automatically. Tears were running, a mixture of all these emotions coming up. A bus stopped beside me, wanting to give me a lift. I knew the woman driving it, but I refused to step in. I just kept walking.

I suddenly noticed that I was not walking back to my workplace, but instead in the direction of the mall, in the center of Rajneeshpuram. “So be it,” I mumbled.

I now knew where I was going: straight to Jesus Grove, to the center of power, where Sheela and all the other big girls in charge were at home. A small compound of houses. Rage and anger, and disappointment, were flooding out of me. Uncontrollable. But my body kept walking – and my sickness now didn’t matter at all.

“Fucking bitches, fucking Osho, nobody steals money from me! It’s clear theft, and that I will not tolerate!”

Visions of being immediately expelled from the Ranch. So be it! Being dropped off in Antelope, and then hitchhiking to Portland, sleeping at the airport until the next flight. So be it!

Three of these ladies in charge were having breakfast on the porch: Padma, my boss, Vidya and Su. I walked straight up to them. What happened next is hard to describe in words. I shouted at them, tears rolling, anger and sorrow overtaking me.

I do remember what I said, though: “Nobody steals money from me! Not you! Not Osho! And not that fucking bitch Sheela! If you need money, you ask me and I will probably give it to you. If Osho wants my money, he can fucking ask first, if he can have it!”

I said these words, and much more. My outburst must have lasted 5 to 10 minutes.

All three women were flabbergasted, staring at me with a mixture of not understanding anything and concern. They couldn’t even interrupt me. Finally, Padma said, “Chitbodhi, stop please. We don’t understand what you are talking about. Please calm down. Sit here and tell us what has happened.”

That they didn’t understand clearly showed on their faces. It took me a few minutes to calm down, so that I could explain what had happened at the Medical Center.

Padma to Vidya: “That’s your department. You don’t know anything about this?”

Vidya: “I don’t know. But I should. I have no idea, but I will find out now.”

Padma: “Maybe it came from Sheela?”

Vidya didn’t comment, but I could read her thoughts in this moment: Fucking Sheela!

She resolutely got up: “I will get to the bottom of this,” and disappeared inside the house.

Padma and Su were still trying to calm me down. “We agree, Chitbodhi. This is not the way. And we don’t steal money!”

While talking with them, I managed to catch bits and pieces from the sometimes-loud telephone conversation going on inside the house.

Vidya walked out onto the porch: “Sorry for this, Chitbodhi. I have to go over and clear this up. I will let you know later on, for sure today. I’m really sorry.”

Padma: “Sheela?”

Vidya: “Yes,” walking over to her car.

Padma suggested I wait in Raidas office until it was resolved. I walked the short distance to our office trailer. (It’s interesting that nobody considered that, as a sick person, I would have needed to go straight to bed! From my side, despite my high fever there was just that rage about being robbed! I was determined that I would not let it happen.)

I had now calmed down and was thinking clearly. I was surprised that they hadn’t thrown me out. But that might still come… If they steal money from me – then I am out of here.

It was unusual for anyone to sit around in the office while everybody else was working, with people walking in and out. Everybody knew me, so they kept asking me what had happened. I told them the story, starting from that morning when I had gone to the Medical Center and then my visit to Jesus Grove. (My story probably spread around over the next few hours.) Lunchtime arrived and everybody took off for Magdalena Canteen. I didn’t feel like food at all, first I needed to have a solution for my problem.

About 3:00 in the afternoon the telephone rang, and Padma picked it up. I knew from the first second that it was Vidya on the other end. She did most of the talking, only a few times interrupted by Padma. A few times I overheard the name Sheela. She for sure was behind all this.

Padma put down the phone and sat beside me. “You can now go to Pythagoras and see a doctor. They already know you are coming and that you don’t have to pay. Tomorrow morning at 8:00 you go and see Vidya. She will give you back the money in cash, whatever you haven’t yet used from the insurance. From today on, all those in your VSP program will have to pay when they see a doctor. Everybody from the program should go tomorrow and pick up their money from Vidya.”

Wow, the Ranch, Osho, a commune where anything could happen and would happen in seconds, like lightning strikes.

I didn’t expect this outcome, but so be it. I was fine with it. From no single dollar in my pocket, I suddenly got the gift of being rich again. I could collect 830 US dollars. That meant I was now rich!

Soccer field with floodlights

The final two months I spent in Rajneeshpuram, I worked in a huge circus tent, a temporary structure, which Raidas used as storage for all kinds of household stuff like cleaning products, bed sheets, cushions and whatever would be needed for the 2nd World Festival in July 1983. The Ranch was getting ready for an influx of an estimated 20,000 visitors for 10 to 14 days, from every corner of the planet.

My boss was American Peggy. She was feared by many as being very bossy, but I never had that problem with her. She was probably just nervous because of the big responsibility that had been given to her. I am certain that she tried her very best to organize to perfection that every tent was equipped with a clean futon, a clean pillow, and that on every one there was a small chocolate bar to welcome whoever slept there.

Work was hard in the two weeks leading up to the arrival of so many people. Tent cities were erected on every small piece of land available anywhere around the Ranch. Extra toilet trailers were hired, hauled in, and then set up and equipped by our plumbers.

In between all of this I still found the time to play soccer three times a week. After a quick dinner I rushed to our small soccer field. The goals were made from recycled wood, but we had full teams of 11 on each side!

Then the big moment came when, as a surprise to everybody, the main office made us a soccer field just opposite the Mandir, complete with professional goalposts and floodlights!

This first game under professional conditions was a great moment for all of us.

At one point I was storming over to the left side, skillfully passing two defenders, when I fell. I tried to get up, but those around me stopped in their tracks, staring in shock at my knee. I didn’t feel any pain. It was only when I was carried off the field that the pain kicked in. I stared at my knee and leg: they were swollen into one big lump.

That was the end of soccer for me. The last six weeks on the Ranch I could only move on two crutches. I worked in our supply tent, sitting down, my leg resting on my big desk, doing paperwork.

And what about the Rolls-Royces?

Probably some of you reading this will ask: “What about Osho and all his Rolls-Royces?”

Sure he was there, driving around the Ranch in always-changing Rolls-Royces, and we all stood by the roadside, and he waved, passing by. I didn’t mind and wouldn’t have expected anything different coming from him.

He pissed off the world, and created new controversies, every day. Controversies in all of us, and in everybody looking at us from the outside. I was used to that already from my time in Poona. That was just his way of shaking everybody up, upsetting all mind patterns and dreams that we carry in us. The Rolls-Royces created some fire under asses of this world and everybody started twitching. I loved it!

My six months were up on October 5, 1983. I returned to Germany on crutches, landing at Frankfurt airport.

The moment I stepped back into the Cologne Meditation Center, I felt uncomfortable and restless. After my exciting times on the Ranch, I was ready for new things, and to settle again in a German-run commune was like staring boredom in the eyes.

I hitchhiked to Berlin, now with only one crutch as my knee was getting better. There I wanted to visit another one of our communes. It had almost 200 residents, and was running a restaurant, therapies and – most exciting for me – a discotheque on Ku’damm by the name of Far Out.

This is an edited except from chapter 24 of Chitbodhi’s One Life: A True Account

Follow the whole series of excerpts on Osho News: One Life by Chitbodhi
Rattlesnakes, swans and coyotes – As a closure of Saten’s articles on farming at Rancho Rajneesh, some gossip about four-, two-, and no-legged inhabitants

Images credit to Yogena Matt, Arjava Petter, Marc, Prabhat Nimi Getter, Sudhir De Gregorio

One Life: A True Account
by Chitbodhi (Karl Ludwig Malczok)
ASIN: ‎ B00T1LKX6A
Kindle eBook: Amazon*