Photograph taken by Lillian Bertz - All Rights Reserved
The crisp Indian air resonated with the sacred sound of OM. As I made my way around the ancient yet fresh corner of Kashi, stepping over a banquet of cow pies, past a toothless old woman drinking chai, I could feel the omnipresent and omnipotent energy of millenniums steadily increase and seep into my being. The closer I got, an indescribable and other worldly force began to multiply by the thousands and ensnare the mundane. The top of my head was tingling and I felt like I was walking on a cloud with a thunderbolt running along my spine. In the distance I could see and feel the sacred treasure that I and millions from around the world have been seeking, Mother Ganga or the Ganges River.
Sitting atop the crumbling cow urine soaked steps under a tree was a jolly looking Indian man dressed in all white with matted white flowing hair and beard. He was my first encounter with a Sadhu or "holy man." My eyes lit up as my pupils became enveloped in his black marble-like eyes. I asked myself, is this my guru? Has my search for truth ended at the base of his divine lotus feet? Drawn more to the energy of the river, I advanced towards it. I smiled and said Namaste (hello in Hindi) as I made my way down the ghats (steps.) The man kindly whispered: "This is holy water. It is very holy water to bathe in and drink." This first of many descents to the river bank is still etched into my mind today. Interbreeding with the interdimensional divine atmosphere were streams of mantras echoing over conical loud speakers. Without taking a breath, the priests rocked Mother Ganga to sleep with a serenade of continuous syllables in Sanskrit. Becoming enraptured by this circus of my psyche, I needed to sit down. Closing my eyes, I must have meditated by the river for at least an hour. Time seemed to have come to a standstill as I tried to make contact with my higher self. Waiting for the wading water buffalos to pass by, I came out of my trance. I then walked into the water at knee level and doused my flesh in the soul cleansing liquid. According to Hindu theology, many lifetimes of sin were cleansed at that very moment. I do not know whether it was a placebo effect or not, but I felt purified and lighter than ever upon leaving. Walking back up the steps, my mind was now much more aware of its surroundings. I glanced at the Sadhu once again. Without hesitation he smiled and offered me some hashish with a nutty vibe that was slightly kookier than before. I declined. It was clear as God's light that he was not my guru.
There is a saying that my meditation teachers in Portland Oregon would tell me: "If he looks like a guru, than he probably isn't a guru. This statement very much applied to my first Sadhu sighting. Now if he was in the running for a guru fashion contest, he would have certainly won. He had the long matted hair, white garb and prayer beads. However, he certainly wasn't the salvation ensuring spiritual master that I had hoped for. This is the sad but silly truth that many seekers must realize before coming to India. I was a bit idealistic and had built up the whole guru idea way too much in my mind. At the time I was reading Paramhansa Yogananda's "Autobiography of a Yogi" and expected to see levitating saints who could dematerialize at will. Now don't get me wrong, these beings do exist, however I did not come across them, at least not knowingly.
Ram Dass (Richard Alpert) the infamous writer of the spiritual cult classic "Be Here Now," states: "If you go looking for a guru, you are not spiritually ready for one." To expand upon this Bhagavan Das (Kermit Michael Riggs) who is a close friend of Ram Dass and one of the major catalysts of his spiritual quest states: "99% percent of the Sadhus are hash addicts who hang out on the ghats." Whether this is true or not, there are a very small number of authentic spiritual masters in the world. However, I was in India the land of enlightenment; I wanted self-realization now. Despite this deep-seated yearning I would soon find out that this state of mind was counterproductive and only repelled the presence of holy beings. I spent a total of two months in Kashi and every time my eyes met with a man who donned dreadlocks and a saffron robe my ego would leap for joy and hope that he was the one. It wasn't until I went to Jaisalmer or "The Desert City" in Rajasthan that this way of thinking soon changed.
Compared to the swarm of touts that I had experienced throughout much of the country, I had found the area of Rajasthan to be quite relaxing and dreamy. Jaisalmer is most known for one of the largest forts in the world which is referred as the "Golden Fort." Another reason for its alluring appeal is that it still houses people and some of the finest Rajasthani goods are sold within the fortress walls. However its main attraction is camel safaris. In a few days it would be my birthday. I pondered what better way is there to celebrate turning 26 than by riding a camel in Indian desert? After turning down relentless overpriced offers from my hotel, my girlfriend and I discussed our plans over lunch at the Mr. Desert Restaurant. During a delicious course of dal (lentils) and chapatti (flat bread) my being became fixated on a dusty poster hanging on top of the entrance to the dining room. It was an advertisement for Jaisalmer cigarettes, but it was not just any typical cigarette ad. It had an authentic Arabian nights and desert vibe to it. Gracing the surface was a handsome and powerful looking man wearing a red turban, with piercing eyes and an almost too perfect beard and moustache. Not thinking anything more about the ad or name of the restaurant, we made our way out of the cafe and noticed a small building with a sign that read "Sahara Travels." I had remembered this name from my guidebook. It had one of the highest ratings for camel safaris in the area and was strongly recommended by a number of travelers. Nearing the entrance of the building, I had the impression that this was not the average Indian tour agency. No yells such as: "You want Safari? or what you want?" burst from eager salesmen. To my surprise, the room was absolutely silent. Radiating from within, an authoritative presence sat with folded hands. Seated in a chair behind a wooden desk was an Indian man of medium build dressed in white with one of the gentlest eyes that I have ever seen. He also had a beard and moustache that seemed much too perfect. Looking up, I noticed the same cigarette ad that I had seen in the restaurant just a few minutes earlier. My eyes traded glances with the poster and then him. Wonderment trickled down my body as came to the conclusion that it was the same man. Although he had aged, it was without a doubt the same likeness. There was an aura around him that was not too pushy and he did not try to force his services in our faces. When we asked about prices, the length of trip and the overall quality, he displayed a sense of utmost understanding and patience that made me feel at home. Pointing to a worn map on his desk he traced the route of the safari with an extended finger. My girlfriend and I decided to set the date for one night and two days. His name was Mr. Desert and I would soon find out the true story behind this enigmatic individual.
Several days had passed and the most unusual circumstances had confronted me. As I was doing my daily walk through the Jaisalmer fort, I was approached by an energetic and eccentric young foreigner male from Oregon who was looking for extras to be in a Bollywood movie. It was to be filmed in the desert and they needed wide eyed foreigner extras now. This was quite the surprise for me because a different director was staying at my guesthouse and I would often fantasize about him needing my expertise. Without a second of questioning, I obliged to this once in a lifetime opportunity and said I would meet with the director later that night. Included in the deal was 1,000 Rupees ($20,) a hotel and most importantly a chance to grace the front of the silver screen. To my girlfriend's dismay, only male actors were needed. Despite this, she was still allowed to stay at the hotel and meet with the director, a man who was as a peculiar, comedic character of sorts. The movie was set in the 1800's and depicted a battle between the Indian and French allies and the British. Although I had no choice in the matter, I would be on the French side.
During this whole process there was a resolute voice in the back of my head. I had been studying Indian philosophy for much of my stay in the land of saints and couldn't help but wonder if Maya (illusion) was gnashing its ruthless teeth at me. I constantly tried to remain centered and resisted the urge to bolster my ego because I was now an actor. It became evident that the mind will create fascinating scenarios once it faces uncommon situations.
Days went by and after doing an exhausting all day dress rehearsal my shot at making it big in Bollywood was on the next day. However, there was a small hiccup. The movie shooting fell on the same day as the camel safari. Had I chosen illusion over truth? Knowing that there would be a definite time conflict, I went to Mr. Desert's building early in the morning to plead my case. I was obviously nervous because I did not want to disappoint the man and make a fool out of himself and his business. Despite these feelings of anxiety, I knew that he would understand. As I sheepishly conveyed my story he chuckled and said that it was not a problem. I only had to pay a small fee for the camel drivers who would've guided us during that day. I rescheduled the safari and as I walked out of the door Mr. Desert giggled, sternly looked me in the eye and said: "Make sure you come next time." Obliging to his request, I knew I could not disappoint him.
The movie was like what any actor or actress has experienced. It consisted of a lot of waiting, standing, eating and resting. On the other hand, the moments where I was in action felt like a strange trip from a past life. Holding a live musket with blank shots with my face and uniform covered in fake blood and ash, I charged and fired at the British with an overflowing amount of hatred that I had just conjured up before the shoot. I wanted to look the part so I imagined how despicable everything was, from their queen, their uniform, to the whites of their eyes. After doing this mental exercise and the same scene over and over again, my mind became extremely weary of pretending to hate a man who I had a pleasant meal with just a few hours before. I now had a new appreciation for acting and the high demanding skill and concentration that it requires. I wondered how professional actors live normal lives. Fighting the British was an experience none the less and after being on the battle fields from sun up to sun down, clad in a powdered wig and real sweat, I was ready to relax on the back of a camel.
Getting to the location was like a Fast and the Furious movie. The driver pushed the limits of the small rickshaw engine and at some points it felt like a roller coaster. I was laughing at the top of my lungs and holding on for dear life. With my knuckles white from clenching the railing, it was obvious that he was trying to break a land speed record. After twenty minutes of what seemed like a desert rally, we had reached our destination and were greeted by a small band of camels. Mounting the camel was like experiencing the first buck of a bronco. Riding one is another story. You must let your entire body from your head to your toes become loose as jelly. Any resistance whatsoever will leave your ass raw like a detox diet. Despite this rough assimilation to my new mode of transportation I developed a friendly bond with my creature caravan.
Photograph taken by Lillian Bertz - All Rights Reserved
The mighty dunes which resembled mountains of saw dust breached the horizon vigilantly. I could not help but wonder if Shiva was nestled in these very mounds. The air was still. Despite the heat it did not seem to affect me adversely. Roosting atop a dune, I noticed a Sadhu-like being. Resembling that of a white dove, transmissions of Samadhi radiated from his aura as I approached. Rooted in asana, his eyes opened. It was Mr. Desert.
I could see why this place attracts numerous tourists. My sense of time seemed to have evaporated and vanished into the sands of time. Making my way to the dunes, I felt like a kid in the world's largest sandbox. The land was untouched and my foreign footsteps seemed to have violated its virgin surface. Standing at the zenith of a dune, I mimicked Mr. Desert and sat in Padmasana. It wasn't before long that my stiff legs and knees began to ache. Glancing to my left the beauteous mound tapered off into a sea of sand. I stood up and marveled at this glory. I then proceeded with quick haste and positioned myself into a corpse pose. Crossing my arms over my chest, I barrel rolled to the bottom. With each bump and clockwise turn of my body, I felt a jolt in my neck and base of my spine. At the bottom it took me sometime to collect myself. Feeling like a load of laundry on spin cycle, all of my senses or lack of senses had been tossed out from me. Although today I turned 26, I felt like that of a 6 year old.
In the distance the bright red sun slowly engulfed the sky like Lord Yama taking a departed soul to the other side. Technicolored pinks, oranges and yellows blazed the background of a canvas that only divinity could devise. As the sun finally set, we all gathered around a campfire and ate some of the best thalis which were handmade and cooked by the camel guides. However, it wasn't the food that got the most attention, but it was Mr. Desert. With my girlfriend and I each by his side sitting in a circle of other foreigners, we both felt like his grand children as he opened up with a story. Breathing in and taking a deep pause as if this was the first time he had ever told it to anyone, he enlightened us on the origin of Mr. Desert.
Every year in Rajisthan, there is a competition called "Mr. Desert" or what is basically a beauty contest for Indian men who best embody the desert look of the ancient Raj kings and warriors. Our beloved tour guide happened to win not only once, but four times in a row! He had won so many times that the judging committee officially awarded him the title "Mr. Desert Emeritus." In other words, he was Mr. Desert for life no matter how many other "winners" were announced. As another token of respect, he is a judge for the competition today.
It seems that he had become a local celebrity overnight. Weaving emotion and charm into his story, I was wide eyed, bushy tailed and at the edge of my seat. While taking several pauses to smile and chuckle, Mr. Desert continued in stoical manner and stated that after he had won multiple times, his friends encouraged him to use the prize money to start his own Safari tour business. Being the soft spoken man that he is, he was unsure of this career change because he had already a successful truck driving business. His current job was comfortable, he was content with life, but was cautious about taking a new path. Despite these feelings of doubt, Mr. Desert persisted and decided to take the cards that life had dealt him into his own hands. It was then that Mr. Desert founded Sahara Travels and left the truck driving business behind. At this point he was in new territory and did not know what to expect. It was time for Mr. Desert to be Mr. Business. To his dismay he did not receive a single customer for months. Dumbfounded, his ego told him that maybe this was not the right business for him. To counteract the absence of customers, he sought advice from other businessmen and tried to be pushy like the other tour agencies. He went on trains, waited at bus stations and essentially became everything that he was not. As this cycle continued, more and more doubt began to flood his mind and set into his soul. Until at the brink of giving up, a rare chance opportunity came his way. Two foreign tourists entered his office and asked to take his photograph. Not seeing any harm in it, Mr. Desert obliged. It wasn't till later that the photographs of Mr. Desert would be used for a cigarette ad, the same one that I saw in the restaurant. Because of the exposure created from the ad, Mr. Desert's business blossomed and then flourished. There is plenty more to the story but this was indeed the highlight of the experience and it would be a crime to spoil it for other people.
Destiny had its way that night and I was in the front row watching the waltz of the moon light. My mind was abuzz with the words of Mr. Desert. It was a moving experience none the less and I wish I could have chatted with him all night. Lying in a thick cocoon of cotton I fixed my gaze at the miraculous nighttime phenomena. Without a single city nearby, the sky lit up with brilliant effulgence. I witnessed many shooting stars and became engrossed in the alluring beauty of it all that night.
The next day was spent riding camels throughout the nomadic villages that dotted the desert landscape. As I rode my camel I further realized how we as humans seemed to have lost a close bond and companionship with our fellow animal friends. Watching how the tour guides handled and treated the camels, I noticed a benevolent level of respect that is inherent in their culture. Contemplating this, I could not help but wonder how wonderful life would be going to work each day on a horse, than in a car. I asked myself: "What level of love can steel provide?"
During the remainder of the desert trek there were several stops along the way. This included resting at shady watering holes and eating. Just like before, all of the food was handmade by our drivers. I noticed that the two men were debating and heavily discussing a topic in Hindi. This caught my curiosity and I pondered what they were so engaged in. It's fascinating how even while working, the two men exchanged a high degree of compassion and companionship towards each other.
After trekking for most of the day we finally reached the end of the journey and the obedient yet steel vehicle that would take us home. The lessons that I learned from Mr. Desert were invaluable. The level of persistence and patience he embodies is worthy of an exorbitant amount of praise. Whether it is a career, family, relationship or spiritual path, his story can relate to all of these areas of life. Without spelling the moral out it was clear: "Never give up on your dreams and the greatest things will happen to you when you least expect it." It is clear that he doesn't just want foreigner's money. Mr. Desert's way of handling business is a model for not just all of India, but the entire world. By sitting in his office all day even in the brutally hot summer months when there is no business, he appears to be inactive. However, he is forever active in performing his duties. Like a Yogi surrendered to the supreme, he totally accepts his circumstances and is dedicated to his work. Sometimes there are days when no one walks through the door. Other times he is booked throughout the week. That is the nature of business and life. Being of Brahmin caste, it is evident that the quest for truth runs deep through his veins like the River Ganga. Just as a potter becomes one with the wheel, it appears that he has become one with his work. Mr. Desert may not be a guru in the sense that all of my darkness was dispelled, but the wisdom and light that he embodies is profound.
A few months ago my girlfriend's mother said that a man with an Indian accent had called to wish her daughter a happy birthday. Needless to say it was Mr. Desert. Before leaving, we had both given him our contact information. We knew that this wasn't the last time we would hear from him. However, in the back of my mind and heart I also had the feeling that it certainly would not be the last time that we would see him either.
Mr Desert Website
Photograph taken by Lillian Bertz - All Rights Reserved
The crisp Indian air resonated with the sacred sound of OM. As I made my way around the ancient yet fresh corner of Kashi, stepping over a banquet of cow pies, past a toothless old woman drinking chai, I could feel the omnipresent and omnipotent energy of millenniums steadily increase and seep into my being. The closer I got, an indescribable and other worldly force began to multiply by the thousands and ensnare the mundane. The top of my head was tingling and I felt like I was walking on a cloud with a thunderbolt running along my spine. In the distance I could see and feel the sacred treasure that I and millions from around the world have been seeking, Mother Ganga or the Ganges River.
Sitting atop the crumbling cow urine soaked steps under a tree was a jolly looking Indian man dressed in all white with matted white flowing hair and beard. He was my first encounter with a Sadhu or "holy man." My eyes lit up as my pupils became enveloped in his black marble-like eyes. I asked myself, is this my guru? Has my search for truth ended at the base of his divine lotus feet? Drawn more to the energy of the river, I advanced towards it. I smiled and said Namaste (hello in Hindi) as I made my way down the ghats (steps.) The man kindly whispered: "This is holy water. It is very holy water to bathe in and drink." This first of many descents to the river bank is still etched into my mind today. Interbreeding with the interdimensional divine atmosphere were streams of mantras echoing over conical loud speakers. Without taking a breath, the priests rocked Mother Ganga to sleep with a serenade of continuous syllables in Sanskrit. Becoming enraptured by this circus of my psyche, I needed to sit down. Closing my eyes, I must have meditated by the river for at least an hour. Time seemed to have come to a standstill as I tried to make contact with my higher self. Waiting for the wading water buffalos to pass by, I came out of my trance. I then walked into the water at knee level and doused my flesh in the soul cleansing liquid. According to Hindu theology, many lifetimes of sin were cleansed at that very moment. I do not know whether it was a placebo effect or not, but I felt purified and lighter than ever upon leaving. Walking back up the steps, my mind was now much more aware of its surroundings. I glanced at the Sadhu once again. Without hesitation he smiled and offered me some hashish with a nutty vibe that was slightly kookier than before. I declined. It was clear as God's light that he was not my guru.
There is a saying that my meditation teachers in Portland Oregon would tell me: "If he looks like a guru, than he probably isn't a guru. This statement very much applied to my first Sadhu sighting. Now if he was in the running for a guru fashion contest, he would have certainly won. He had the long matted hair, white garb and prayer beads. However, he certainly wasn't the salvation ensuring spiritual master that I had hoped for. This is the sad but silly truth that many seekers must realize before coming to India. I was a bit idealistic and had built up the whole guru idea way too much in my mind. At the time I was reading Paramhansa Yogananda's "Autobiography of a Yogi" and expected to see levitating saints who could dematerialize at will. Now don't get me wrong, these beings do exist, however I did not come across them, at least not knowingly.
Ram Dass (Richard Alpert) the infamous writer of the spiritual cult classic "Be Here Now," states: "If you go looking for a guru, you are not spiritually ready for one." To expand upon this Bhagavan Das (Kermit Michael Riggs) who is a close friend of Ram Dass and one of the major catalysts of his spiritual quest states: "99% percent of the Sadhus are hash addicts who hang out on the ghats." Whether this is true or not, there are a very small number of authentic spiritual masters in the world. However, I was in India the land of enlightenment; I wanted self-realization now. Despite this deep-seated yearning I would soon find out that this state of mind was counterproductive and only repelled the presence of holy beings. I spent a total of two months in Kashi and every time my eyes met with a man who donned dreadlocks and a saffron robe my ego would leap for joy and hope that he was the one. It wasn't until I went to Jaisalmer or "The Desert City" in Rajasthan that this way of thinking soon changed.
Compared to the swarm of touts that I had experienced throughout much of the country, I had found the area of Rajasthan to be quite relaxing and dreamy. Jaisalmer is most known for one of the largest forts in the world which is referred as the "Golden Fort." Another reason for its alluring appeal is that it still houses people and some of the finest Rajasthani goods are sold within the fortress walls. However its main attraction is camel safaris. In a few days it would be my birthday. I pondered what better way is there to celebrate turning 26 than by riding a camel in Indian desert? After turning down relentless overpriced offers from my hotel, my girlfriend and I discussed our plans over lunch at the Mr. Desert Restaurant. During a delicious course of dal (lentils) and chapatti (flat bread) my being became fixated on a dusty poster hanging on top of the entrance to the dining room. It was an advertisement for Jaisalmer cigarettes, but it was not just any typical cigarette ad. It had an authentic Arabian nights and desert vibe to it. Gracing the surface was a handsome and powerful looking man wearing a red turban, with piercing eyes and an almost too perfect beard and moustache. Not thinking anything more about the ad or name of the restaurant, we made our way out of the cafe and noticed a small building with a sign that read "Sahara Travels." I had remembered this name from my guidebook. It had one of the highest ratings for camel safaris in the area and was strongly recommended by a number of travelers. Nearing the entrance of the building, I had the impression that this was not the average Indian tour agency. No yells such as: "You want Safari? or what you want?" burst from eager salesmen. To my surprise, the room was absolutely silent. Radiating from within, an authoritative presence sat with folded hands. Seated in a chair behind a wooden desk was an Indian man of medium build dressed in white with one of the gentlest eyes that I have ever seen. He also had a beard and moustache that seemed much too perfect. Looking up, I noticed the same cigarette ad that I had seen in the restaurant just a few minutes earlier. My eyes traded glances with the poster and then him. Wonderment trickled down my body as came to the conclusion that it was the same man. Although he had aged, it was without a doubt the same likeness. There was an aura around him that was not too pushy and he did not try to force his services in our faces. When we asked about prices, the length of trip and the overall quality, he displayed a sense of utmost understanding and patience that made me feel at home. Pointing to a worn map on his desk he traced the route of the safari with an extended finger. My girlfriend and I decided to set the date for one night and two days. His name was Mr. Desert and I would soon find out the true story behind this enigmatic individual.
Several days had passed and the most unusual circumstances had confronted me. As I was doing my daily walk through the Jaisalmer fort, I was approached by an energetic and eccentric young foreigner male from Oregon who was looking for extras to be in a Bollywood movie. It was to be filmed in the desert and they needed wide eyed foreigner extras now. This was quite the surprise for me because a different director was staying at my guesthouse and I would often fantasize about him needing my expertise. Without a second of questioning, I obliged to this once in a lifetime opportunity and said I would meet with the director later that night. Included in the deal was 1,000 Rupees ($20,) a hotel and most importantly a chance to grace the front of the silver screen. To my girlfriend's dismay, only male actors were needed. Despite this, she was still allowed to stay at the hotel and meet with the director, a man who was as a peculiar, comedic character of sorts. The movie was set in the 1800's and depicted a battle between the Indian and French allies and the British. Although I had no choice in the matter, I would be on the French side.
During this whole process there was a resolute voice in the back of my head. I had been studying Indian philosophy for much of my stay in the land of saints and couldn't help but wonder if Maya (illusion) was gnashing its ruthless teeth at me. I constantly tried to remain centered and resisted the urge to bolster my ego because I was now an actor. It became evident that the mind will create fascinating scenarios once it faces uncommon situations.
Days went by and after doing an exhausting all day dress rehearsal my shot at making it big in Bollywood was on the next day. However, there was a small hiccup. The movie shooting fell on the same day as the camel safari. Had I chosen illusion over truth? Knowing that there would be a definite time conflict, I went to Mr. Desert's building early in the morning to plead my case. I was obviously nervous because I did not want to disappoint the man and make a fool out of himself and his business. Despite these feelings of anxiety, I knew that he would understand. As I sheepishly conveyed my story he chuckled and said that it was not a problem. I only had to pay a small fee for the camel drivers who would've guided us during that day. I rescheduled the safari and as I walked out of the door Mr. Desert giggled, sternly looked me in the eye and said: "Make sure you come next time." Obliging to his request, I knew I could not disappoint him.
The movie was like what any actor or actress has experienced. It consisted of a lot of waiting, standing, eating and resting. On the other hand, the moments where I was in action felt like a strange trip from a past life. Holding a live musket with blank shots with my face and uniform covered in fake blood and ash, I charged and fired at the British with an overflowing amount of hatred that I had just conjured up before the shoot. I wanted to look the part so I imagined how despicable everything was, from their queen, their uniform, to the whites of their eyes. After doing this mental exercise and the same scene over and over again, my mind became extremely weary of pretending to hate a man who I had a pleasant meal with just a few hours before. I now had a new appreciation for acting and the high demanding skill and concentration that it requires. I wondered how professional actors live normal lives. Fighting the British was an experience none the less and after being on the battle fields from sun up to sun down, clad in a powdered wig and real sweat, I was ready to relax on the back of a camel.
Getting to the location was like a Fast and the Furious movie. The driver pushed the limits of the small rickshaw engine and at some points it felt like a roller coaster. I was laughing at the top of my lungs and holding on for dear life. With my knuckles white from clenching the railing, it was obvious that he was trying to break a land speed record. After twenty minutes of what seemed like a desert rally, we had reached our destination and were greeted by a small band of camels. Mounting the camel was like experiencing the first buck of a bronco. Riding one is another story. You must let your entire body from your head to your toes become loose as jelly. Any resistance whatsoever will leave your ass raw like a detox diet. Despite this rough assimilation to my new mode of transportation I developed a friendly bond with my creature caravan.
Photograph taken by Lillian Bertz - All Rights Reserved
The mighty dunes which resembled mountains of saw dust breached the horizon vigilantly. I could not help but wonder if Shiva was nestled in these very mounds. The air was still. Despite the heat it did not seem to affect me adversely. Roosting atop a dune, I noticed a Sadhu-like being. Resembling that of a white dove, transmissions of Samadhi radiated from his aura as I approached. Rooted in asana, his eyes opened. It was Mr. Desert.
I could see why this place attracts numerous tourists. My sense of time seemed to have evaporated and vanished into the sands of time. Making my way to the dunes, I felt like a kid in the world's largest sandbox. The land was untouched and my foreign footsteps seemed to have violated its virgin surface. Standing at the zenith of a dune, I mimicked Mr. Desert and sat in Padmasana. It wasn't before long that my stiff legs and knees began to ache. Glancing to my left the beauteous mound tapered off into a sea of sand. I stood up and marveled at this glory. I then proceeded with quick haste and positioned myself into a corpse pose. Crossing my arms over my chest, I barrel rolled to the bottom. With each bump and clockwise turn of my body, I felt a jolt in my neck and base of my spine. At the bottom it took me sometime to collect myself. Feeling like a load of laundry on spin cycle, all of my senses or lack of senses had been tossed out from me. Although today I turned 26, I felt like that of a 6 year old.
In the distance the bright red sun slowly engulfed the sky like Lord Yama taking a departed soul to the other side. Technicolored pinks, oranges and yellows blazed the background of a canvas that only divinity could devise. As the sun finally set, we all gathered around a campfire and ate some of the best thalis which were handmade and cooked by the camel guides. However, it wasn't the food that got the most attention, but it was Mr. Desert. With my girlfriend and I each by his side sitting in a circle of other foreigners, we both felt like his grand children as he opened up with a story. Breathing in and taking a deep pause as if this was the first time he had ever told it to anyone, he enlightened us on the origin of Mr. Desert.
Every year in Rajisthan, there is a competition called "Mr. Desert" or what is basically a beauty contest for Indian men who best embody the desert look of the ancient Raj kings and warriors. Our beloved tour guide happened to win not only once, but four times in a row! He had won so many times that the judging committee officially awarded him the title "Mr. Desert Emeritus." In other words, he was Mr. Desert for life no matter how many other "winners" were announced. As another token of respect, he is a judge for the competition today.
It seems that he had become a local celebrity overnight. Weaving emotion and charm into his story, I was wide eyed, bushy tailed and at the edge of my seat. While taking several pauses to smile and chuckle, Mr. Desert continued in stoical manner and stated that after he had won multiple times, his friends encouraged him to use the prize money to start his own Safari tour business. Being the soft spoken man that he is, he was unsure of this career change because he had already a successful truck driving business. His current job was comfortable, he was content with life, but was cautious about taking a new path. Despite these feelings of doubt, Mr. Desert persisted and decided to take the cards that life had dealt him into his own hands. It was then that Mr. Desert founded Sahara Travels and left the truck driving business behind. At this point he was in new territory and did not know what to expect. It was time for Mr. Desert to be Mr. Business. To his dismay he did not receive a single customer for months. Dumbfounded, his ego told him that maybe this was not the right business for him. To counteract the absence of customers, he sought advice from other businessmen and tried to be pushy like the other tour agencies. He went on trains, waited at bus stations and essentially became everything that he was not. As this cycle continued, more and more doubt began to flood his mind and set into his soul. Until at the brink of giving up, a rare chance opportunity came his way. Two foreign tourists entered his office and asked to take his photograph. Not seeing any harm in it, Mr. Desert obliged. It wasn't till later that the photographs of Mr. Desert would be used for a cigarette ad, the same one that I saw in the restaurant. Because of the exposure created from the ad, Mr. Desert's business blossomed and then flourished. There is plenty more to the story but this was indeed the highlight of the experience and it would be a crime to spoil it for other people.
Destiny had its way that night and I was in the front row watching the waltz of the moon light. My mind was abuzz with the words of Mr. Desert. It was a moving experience none the less and I wish I could have chatted with him all night. Lying in a thick cocoon of cotton I fixed my gaze at the miraculous nighttime phenomena. Without a single city nearby, the sky lit up with brilliant effulgence. I witnessed many shooting stars and became engrossed in the alluring beauty of it all that night.
The next day was spent riding camels throughout the nomadic villages that dotted the desert landscape. As I rode my camel I further realized how we as humans seemed to have lost a close bond and companionship with our fellow animal friends. Watching how the tour guides handled and treated the camels, I noticed a benevolent level of respect that is inherent in their culture. Contemplating this, I could not help but wonder how wonderful life would be going to work each day on a horse, than in a car. I asked myself: "What level of love can steel provide?"
During the remainder of the desert trek there were several stops along the way. This included resting at shady watering holes and eating. Just like before, all of the food was handmade by our drivers. I noticed that the two men were debating and heavily discussing a topic in Hindi. This caught my curiosity and I pondered what they were so engaged in. It's fascinating how even while working, the two men exchanged a high degree of compassion and companionship towards each other.
After trekking for most of the day we finally reached the end of the journey and the obedient yet steel vehicle that would take us home. The lessons that I learned from Mr. Desert were invaluable. The level of persistence and patience he embodies is worthy of an exorbitant amount of praise. Whether it is a career, family, relationship or spiritual path, his story can relate to all of these areas of life. Without spelling the moral out it was clear: "Never give up on your dreams and the greatest things will happen to you when you least expect it." It is clear that he doesn't just want foreigner's money. Mr. Desert's way of handling business is a model for not just all of India, but the entire world. By sitting in his office all day even in the brutally hot summer months when there is no business, he appears to be inactive. However, he is forever active in performing his duties. Like a Yogi surrendered to the supreme, he totally accepts his circumstances and is dedicated to his work. Sometimes there are days when no one walks through the door. Other times he is booked throughout the week. That is the nature of business and life. Being of Brahmin caste, it is evident that the quest for truth runs deep through his veins like the River Ganga. Just as a potter becomes one with the wheel, it appears that he has become one with his work. Mr. Desert may not be a guru in the sense that all of my darkness was dispelled, but the wisdom and light that he embodies is profound.
A few months ago my girlfriend's mother said that a man with an Indian accent had called to wish her daughter a happy birthday. Needless to say it was Mr. Desert. Before leaving, we had both given him our contact information. We knew that this wasn't the last time we would hear from him. However, in the back of my mind and heart I also had the feeling that it certainly would not be the last time that we would see him either.
Mr Desert Website
