December 11, 2014

WHERE A HOLY MAN LIES FROZEN, THREAT OF A STANDOFF LOOMS

[His followers — men and women who flock to the ashram by the thousands — as well as the ashram leadership, do not deny that “Maharaj ji” is there, frozen in a chamber. But they swear that he is alive, having attained “samadhi,” a high state of consciousness reserved for the holiest of men, beings so evolved they can control their heartbeat, a state indistinguishable to the unenlightened from death.]

By Nida Najar
The ashram of Ashutosh Maharaj in Nurmahal, India. State officials have 
ordered his cremation,but followers say he is not dead. Credit Kuni 
Takahashi for The New York Times
NURMAHAL, India — Outwardly, nothing has changed at the ashram here, which buzzes with signs of a healthy, bountiful life.
Tanker trucks bring water to 200 acres of sprawling wheat fields. Plump cows feed at communal troughs, a far cry from the skinny animals that populate many of India’s streets. Workers mill about a pharmacy that sells an in-house brand of traditional medicines.
But somewhere inside the ashram, Divya Jyoti Jagrati Sansthan, hidden away in a secret chamber, is the frozen body of its spiritual leader, Ashutosh Maharaj, who was declared clinically dead of a heart attack on Jan. 29. The local news media, using a Hindi word for a holy man, have taken to calling him the “frozen baba.”
His followers — men and women who flock to the ashram by the thousands — as well as the ashram leadership, do not deny that “Maharaj ji” is there, frozen in a chamber. But they swear that he is alive, having attained “samadhi,” a high state of consciousness reserved for the holiest of men, beings so evolved they can control their heartbeat, a state indistinguishable to the unenlightened from death.
“Whenever a saint goes into samadhi, it is his disciples’ duty to preserve his body,” said an ashram preacher, Swami Vishalanand, sitting in orange robes under a framed photo of Mr. Maharaj, whose likeness dominates the ashram’s walls.
On Dec. 1, however, the High Court of Punjab and Haryana issued a 129-page order citing the Bhagavad Gita and the Upanishads, and referring to the embalming of Lenin. The upshot: The state government ordered the cremation of Mr. Maharaj’s body within 15 days.
The ashram’s leaders are planning a monthly gathering on Sunday, just before the deadline, where they expect 60,000 people from all over the state, an event many fear could lead to a violent confrontation with the police.
The last time something like this happened, the results were catastrophic. In November, a powerful spiritual leader, Baba Rampal Maharaj, who was wanted on a murder charge, fended off thousands of police officers with the help of an army of volunteers armed with diesel bombs and acid pouches. The standoff left six dead and many more wounded.
Officials speak hesitatingly of the cremation order. K. K. Yadav, the deputy commissioner of the Jalandhar district, which includes the ashram, declined to comment on the situation, but he told The Hindustan Times that they “will implement the orders within the deadline.”
A police official in the district capital, who requested anonymity because he was not authorized to speak on the matter, said that the police presence outside the ashram had recently tripled.
“There is a huge following,” the official said. “They have faith that a dead man can come back. Their religious feelings can be hurt.” He paused. “Anything can happen.”
It is unclear how Mr. Maharaj built his empire, but many believe he capitalized on conflict between Hindus and the state’s majority Sikh population during a decade of Sikh militancy there beginning in the early 1980s.
The ashram website depicts Mr. Maharaj’s journey as a beacon in “the darkest period in the history of Punjab,” when “fanaticism, terrorism and extremism reigned supreme.”
The court’s order is partly a response to the petition of a man claiming to be his long-lost son and asking to perform last rites on the body. In it the petitioner says that Ashutosh Maharaj was born Mahesh Jha in a village in Bihar in 1946. He was married and had a son in 1972, the petition continues, but deserted the family shortly afterward and started the ashram in Punjab.
The atmosphere in and around the ashram is tense. The police said that they were frisking people entering the ashram. The ashram itself frisks visitors at checkpoints, and no uniformed police officers could be seen within the ashram’s walls.
Journalists are kept on the fringes of the site and have little luck getting people to talk.
But in the town just outside the ashram’s walls, a debate rages.
Shiv Kumar, who sells cigarettes and other sundries in Nurmahal, said that he had been visiting the ashram for the past three years, and he credited Mr. Maharaj’s teachings for an uptick in his business.
“His soul is very clean,” Mr. Kumar said. “He is in samadhi, and he will come out of it.”
But Harbhajan Singh, a 81-year-old farmer from a nearby village, was skeptical.
“Have you ever seen him?” demanded Mr. Singh. “So many people in my village follow him, and they have never seen him.”
Mr. Kumar maintained that he had.
“If he’s not dead, why is he not coming out? Let people see his body. If he’s in samadhi, why is he in a freezer?” demanded Mr. Singh, his voice rising with each question.
Mr. Kumar said that Mr. Maharaj would come back.
“Maybe some look-alike will come and take his seat,” Mr. Singh said.
Mr. Kumar was quiet. He said that Mr. Maharaj’s preaching appealed to him, but he would not say why.
“All his words are a secret,” Mr. Kumar said. “He is like a god to me. He showed me the path.”
Residents of Nurmahal described Mr. Maharaj’s followers as being of two types: poor migrants who took up the services offered in the ashram in exchange for shelter, and powerful, sometimes politically connected men who helped finance its enormous operation.
“The politicians go to him to get votes,” Mr. Singh said. “It’s all power. Migrants from other states — they give them shelter and get the vote for politicians.”
Even some supporters are exasperated. Ashok Sandhu, a local businessman with 40 acres of farmland, two rice mills and a gas station in Nurmahal, has long been a follower, but he was uneasy with the business of Mr. Maharaj’s body.
“What is going on there is not in good taste,” he said, adding that many important officials in the government were followers of the ashram. “Our whole town is disturbed.”
Followers maintained that the government and the police, some of whom had joined the ashram, were in a difficult position after the High Court order — unwilling to execute it, but unable to resist.
Ashram leaders filed an appeal, which Indian newspapers have said will be decided Monday. To them, the conversation around their leader is misguided.
“There has been no talk of samadhi in the High Court,” said Mr. Vishalanand. “We will tell them, ‘Wait and watch.’ ”