Sadhu

Men in saffron robes.
 

Probably doesn’t mean much to you. You may have seen them around. Those ‘Hare Krishna’ guys. Clean shaven heads, huge hairy beards, draped in saffron, wearing beads. Well, their Indian antecedents are called Sadhus.
 

Sadhus are ascetic, wandering monks, solely dedicated to achieving liberation through meditation and contemplation. They are a common sight in India. They go around asking for alms and giving blessings.

In my household, sadhus were a common sight. My father, and before him his father, were devout believers and admirers of the sadhus way of life. From an early age, I remember scores of these saffron men coming by our house, asking for alms. Ask is what they did; they never begged, they just…expected. Like it was their divine right. My father would give them whatever he was able to at the time. He gave them money, rice, cell phones, tickets to pilgrimage destinations. He is a good man my father. He believes in helping out those in need. I did too.

These sadhus would come over to our house and take their alms. Then they would bless the inhabitants, perform some rituals, even do palm readings and the like. I remember being told once that I would get married to a wealthy man and travel a lot and have lots of kids. That is the accepted and desired future for women here. Of course, my plans for my future headed a different way, but I knew they were trying to be nice. They were elders, they were respected by my father, they were holy men. Even though I was a budding agnostic, I had nothing but respect for them. I was a good girl like that.

When I was 17, we shifted into a new house. My father is extremely close to his brother. They have their own business where they work as partners. We used to live as a joint family too, with my uncle and aunt all living under the same roof. There was some friction between the two ladies of the household and we shifted into individual flats, facing each other.  Our old house served as my father’s office too. With the change, he got a separate office some blocks away. All sadhu activity was directed there hence. No sadhu came to our home. Of course, we would still see them on the roads, stopping cars and asking for alms; but all in all, I lived a sadhu-free existence. Till last year.

It was summer. I had just come back from college for my summer break. I had two months of vacation. My parents still had to go to work, but every evening we would cuddle and have fun. The mornings I would spend on the computer, reading, drawing, watching movies, just lazing around.

That day, my father left early. He had to go for a meeting to this secure complex where he couldn’t even take his phone. My mother left at seven, as usual. I went about my usual routine. I did my morning exercise, fixed breakfast, took a bath. I was just starting to get dressed when I heard the doorbell go off. I just grabbed a dressing robe, thinking it would be the maid. I would let her in and then go back and get dressed.

I opened the door. It was a sadhu. A pretty young one too. It had been ages since I saw one. The city my college is in doesn’t have the culture. Well, here was one, complete with saffron robe, beads, stick, alms mug and that all-knowing smile. Frankly I was a little annoyed. Holy men were scam artists; you heard stories of their tricks everywhere. Besides, by this time I had been living by myself long enough to understand the value of money and how every rupee counts. My giving to the poor phase was over. That sadhu at the door was the next most annoying person, after salesmen, that could have rung my doorbell. Oh well. I thought I would just get rid of him quickly and then I could go back and get dressed and get back to chatting with my friends on skype.

Despite all the metamorphosis my personality had undergone, he was still elder to me, he was respected by my father, he had come in good faith. I was perfectly polite and respectful, with a big smile on my face. I am a good girl like that.

He started talking. Sadhus have this way of talking that really gets to you. It’s partially obsequious, like a sycophantic whine while they sidle up to you and get you to pay big; it’s partially vain, with this innate pride at their being so obviously above the level of mere human beings and having a direct link with god. It’s sprinkled with praises and blessings and divinations and predictions, not to mention the obscene amounts of money that they should get as god appeared in their dream and ordered them to go to some pilgrimage. They talk really fast and next thing you know, you’re handing over a big wad of cash. Quite a good scam really. Of course, there are the rare few who actually follow the way of the true sadhus. I guess these are the ones my father is affiliated with.

So anyway, this guy started talking. I immediately cut him off and said with a big smile that I was sorry but my parents weren’t at home and I didn’t have any money. He paused. He asked for a glass of water. I went and got him one. He took it. He smiled obsequiously and asked if my father was there. I said no, he had gone to work. He said he knew my father and that my father always gave him something and that he has never left our house empty handed. I told him no can do. He insisted. I caved. My father probably did know him. And I hadn’t been living at home for a year now; who knew the new customs and traditions developed by my parents? I wanted to make him go away as fast as possible so I went to my room, grabbed my wallet and pulled out 30 bucks. I went back and gave it to him and said it was all I had. He smiled his all-knowing smile and put his hand on my head, the way sadhus are wont to when giving blessings.

He asked me if I was married. I said no, I was just 20. He smiled and said that was old enough. He blessed my future and told me that I was going to get married to a very wealthy man and give him lots of babies. I rolled my eyes at this traditional chauvinistic slogan but continued smiling, hoping he would go away. He was still talking. He asked me what I was doing. I said I was in college. He smiled and said I would be immensely successful in my future. Interesting. Finally a deviation from the age old routine. He said I would get a swanky job and thrive. I smiled. He said I had a good heart. He lifted his hand from my head and placed it on my heart. Well, my chest. He started patting slowly while he continued telling me what a good heart I had, how I cared so much for all that was around me. I don’t know why but I was starting to tear up slightly. He stopped and asked for another glass of water.

I went to the kitchen and refilled his glass. He was still standing at the doorway; standing, in fact, just a little within the threshold. I waited while he drank the water. He gave me the glass and started talking again. About my future, present, past. My personality. My ‘good heart’. His hand was back on my chest. This time it was groping. I took a step back and my hands crossed over my chest. I couldn’t say anything of course; he was a sadhu and sadhus are to be respected. My father taught me that. He immediately put his hand back on my head and told me it was ok, he was just blessing me. I felt calm. He gently removed my hands and told me this was gods wish and I should not shy away from a blessing. He started groping again. I was in a trance. He kept talking. He had a melodic, hypnotic voice that calmed me. Suddenly he stopped and asked for more water.

Somewhere deep inside me I knew something was wrong. But I was in some sort of a trance. I walked mechanically to the kitchen, filled his glass and walked back with a smile. He drank it and started talking again. A lot of what he said I didn’t understand. My hindi is pretty bad and he was using some pretty archaic words. Then he put his hand on my underwear. He asked me if I had had my menstrual cycle. I don’t even know how he managed to slip that in so casually, making it sound like a perfectly normal question. I said I did. He started to finger me. He said you’re not wearing any underwear now are you? I said I was. He asked me when my last menstrual cycle was. I think here my defenses kicked in finally and I lied and said I was having it at the moment. In hindsight, I think if I hadn't said that, he might have proceeded to rape. He took his hand away and started groping my chest again.. He asked for more water. In a trance I went, all the while smiling.

My senses though were slowly coming back. When he tried to grope again, I quickly moved back. He told me it was gods blessing and that I shouldn’t shy away. I smiled and said I was not comfortable. I couldn’t be rude. You shouldn’t be rude to your elders. My parents taught me that. But my defenses were definitely building. I think he saw I was about to break because he immediately backed off and started collecting his things. He said I was to tell no one about this; this was a special secret between god and myself. He stressed that I shouldn’t tell my father. I smiled and said I wouldn’t. He left. I closed the door behind him. I went back to my computer. A horrible sensation was starting to descend over me. The friend I was chatting with on skype was still waiting. He asked me where I had been. I put on a voicecall. He picked up. I was still smiling. I remember the effect my words had on him. But it had a greater effect on me. I told him “I think I have just been molested.”

The poor kid was 14 years old. He had no clue what to do. In fact, I don’t think he was talking at all. Just replying in chat. I was the only one talking. My voice was breaking. I recounted the incident. Slowly I started realizing what I had let the sadhu do to me.  I wasn’t crying though. I couldn’t cry. I think I was in shock. He suggested calling up my parents. I got up on shaky legs and got the phone. I called my father. His phone was switched off. He had gone to that meeting. I called my mother. Switched off. She wasn’t allowed to take calls in school. Same went for my aunt, also a teacher in the same school. I figured my uncle would be with my father. I sat and I stared at my computer. I couldn’t think of what to do. I felt numb. I just wanted to stop thinking. And what better way to do that than be on the internet? I joined a random dmt match. I don’t know what I would have done if what happened next hadn’t happened. But it did and it was one of the things that saved me that day. My aunt came online on skype.

This is my mother’s sister. She is my idol. She is everything I have ever wanted to be. Both my brother and I are in complete awe of her. She is I think the only family member(except my brother) who I ever added on skype. It was a blessing she came online that day at that time. I tentatively said hi. She replied and asked how I was. I told her I thought I had just been molested. She immediately called. I gave her the cliffnotes on what happened.  She immediately took charge. She asked me if I had called my parents. I told her nor they, nor my uncle and aunt were available. She told me to call the police. In India, calling the police is….not desirable. The Indian police are a bunch of corrupt, useless lot who go out of their way to harass victims and won’t take a step without some money under the table.  They were the last option. I couldn’t understand my aunt’s urgency in getting help. The thing was done with. The police wouldn’t help at all. I just wanted to sit and do nothing and have people tell me it was going to be ok. But my aunt knew what I needed. I needed closure. She was forceful and I was in no condition to resist so I thought I would give my uncle a call just to make sure he was with my father and then proceed to the last option. I called him. To my surprise, he picked up. I started babbling. I couldn’t talk straight. He misheard me initially; he thought I was telling him a sadhu had come and I was asking him what to do and he told me to tell the sadhu to come later. Eventually he picked up the word ‘molested’ and told me to stay where I was. Two seconds later, he was at the door.

My uncle was the second person who saved me that day. I hadn’t known but he was at home, right next door, all along. He asked me what happened. I told him. I was shaking. He told me to lock the door and not open it until I confirmed who it was. And he told me to put on some decent clothes; I was in my dressing gown the whole time. Then he grabbed his motorbike keys and ran off.  I went shakily back to my computer. My aunt was still on call. Once she was assured someone was after the guy, she concentrated on calming me down and talking about her own experiences of being molested and how to handle it.

10 minutes later, my uncle called. He asked me to come to our balcony. Our flat is on the fifth floor. I went and looked down at the parking area – he was there. The sadhu. He was there beside my uncle. My uncle asked me if this was the guy. I nodded yes. My uncle grabbed hold of him and started beating him up. I don’t even know what I was feeling. I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. I just hugged myself and made this shrill keening sound. All around me neighbors started poking their heads out of balconies and windows, asking what had happened. My uncle was yelling. He shouted at the guy how he dared take on the holy robes and then molest under gods name. He kicked him and stripped him off his robes. He took his beads and his stick and his alms mug and threw them on the ground. By this time some neighbors had joined in and were beating the guy up as well. That’s the thing about India; we may not have decent police but we don’t have apathy either. My uncle finally stopped them and told the sadhu that if he ever dared to take up the holy robes again or do what he had done today, he would be hunted down and punished. Then they let him go, semi naked, whimpering, bruised.

I later found out that my uncle had asked around the building and met a maid who told him that she had seen a sadhu somewhere in the next block. Then he circled the neighborhood till he found a sadhu and got him to come back with him by saying that no sadhu ever left his house without getting alms. Then my uncle made sure I was watching and gave me closure. That, I think, was the one thing I needed the most. He made sure I saw the guy get punished. I often wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t caught the guy. I would be afraid to step out of the house, let alone go live in a big city by myself. That day my uncle and my aunt saved me.

For a short while I blamed my father. I thought that it was because of him this guy had come to our house. That passed of course. Then I blamed myself. That still hasn’t passed.

I am not a wimp. I am not a spineless coward. I have always been a rebel. I stand up for myself and my beliefs. I am pretty big built and have gotten into tons of fights before protecting my delicate female friends from males bullying them. So then what happened to me? Why did I just take it all? The whole thing went on for a good ten minutes. Where was I? WHY DIDN’T I DO ANYTHING? I have been tormented with this question ever since. It has been one year. I still can’t get over it.

Many people have tried to provide explanations: all girls become like this the first time they are molested, my defenses were down because I thought I was in a safe environment at my own home, I was hypnotized (my mother’s theory), I thought that a sadhu was to be trusted and respected. Whatever. Still can’t accept it. I have come to terms with being molested. I cannot come to terms with my behavior. I hope someday I will forgive myself.