Databir

The most remarkable disciple I've ever met is -- without question -- Databir. Nobody else comes close.

In my early days as a disciple, when I was still living in California and only dreaming of life with my guru in New York, silent meditation was my forte. It was the one thing that I was extremely good at right from the start, and if you'll pardon the conceit, I thought I was better at it than most of the other disciples I observed.

You might fairly ask, how could I know that I was "better" at it than the others I observed? I don't have a good answer for that question. I didn't understand it myself -- I just knew. It was part of the gift, I suppose. Like Sri Ramakrishna was fond of saying, it was like one hemp smoker always being able to recognize another hemp smoker, even across a crowded room.

In any event, that psychic communion time was precious to me. As I moved to New York, however, I began to worry that, unless I was careful, I'd lose myself in the daily routine of being a "local."

There was good reason to worry. Guru routinely put down the local disciples en masse. They had "fallen" he had said, and as it became clear to some of my friends that I would be moving to New York permanently, they warned me "not to become a local." Key to avoiding such a fate, I figured, was keeping up my daily meditation practice at home.

That turned out to be impossible.

If you were a "local" disciple -- and a guy -- then the way to get physically closer to Guru was through hard work and self sacrifice. By "hard work" I don't mean just working hard on a particular project or for a set period of time. No. I mean losing sleep on a regular -- if not indefinite -- basis.

For the very short time that I kept up such a pace, for example, I was expected to be at work at the Smile of the Beyond by 8 a.m. and I would work until 4 p.m. If Guru wasn't at the tennis court, I'd get in a run, then shower and head to that evening's function. Afterwards, I might head back to the Smile -- by which time it might be 10:30 or 11 p.m. -- where I'd wash dishes for Bipin and Pulin or do Databir's clean-up chores (while they were up at Guru's house). Sometime after midnight, the boys would return, whereupon we might all head out on a road crew mission to re-paint one of Guru's running courses or drive into Manhattan to poster for an upcoming concert. I might then hit the sack at 2 or 3 a.m.

Rinse. Repeat.

After a single week like that, the idea that I'd get up even a half hour early to meditate before work was absurd. As it turned out, sitting in front of a bedroom shrine no longer seemed necessary. Meditating in front of Guru personally almost everyday, combined with hours of selfless service, resulted in a continuous sense of euphoria that seemed to exude from my very pores. The only problem -- in hindsight -- was that I was only able to keep this frenetic schedule up for a few months before I had to begin drawing some boundaries for myself.

Databir kept it up for almost four decades.

I remember little about the details of Databir's background, except that he was a jock in high school, went to Wesleyan University -- where he played linebacker on the football team -- and upon graduation in or around 1970 became a disciple. On some of our late night sojourns into Manhattan to put up posters, Databir would regale us with stories of his around the world adventure after graduating college. His father, he'd said, gave him an around-the-world ticket as a graduation gift, whereupon Databir travelled the globe.

It was never clear to me how much of the stories were true -- wrestling tigers in India, for example, seemed to be a bit of exaggeration designed to keep me and Ketan awake in the back seat of his station wagon (the front seat being reserved for Guru's use) -- but that didn't matter. It was the excitement with which Databir told the stories and how he could work himself into almost hysterical laughter at our incredulous looks while listening to him.

In my early New York days, before I had officially been granted local status or had secured an apartment of my own, I slept in Databir's living room. Among the books I came across in his house that winter was one I hadn't seen before.

It looked just like one of Guru's -- having apparently been printed by Agni Press -- but it's author was "Casey Waters." It told in simple prose a series of funny and inspiring anecdotes from "Casey's" early discipleship. (How I wish I could remember the name of that book or have a copy of it to quote from. Only a limited number were originally printed and as I recall it may have seen a second printing sometime later, but I've found no reference to it on the web. If anyone has it, please let me know.)

I remember only fragments now. How young Casey meditated 8 to 10 hours a day. How he used to stalk Guru's house, hoping for a glimpse of his master. How one time, Guru and the disciples were taking a bus trip, and for some reason Guru asked Casey to come up to the front. When he did, Guru told him to get off the bus and run back to Jamaica, New York. Casey got off the bus somewhere near the Tappan Zee Bridge -- almost 40 miles away! (Check this for some perspective.) I found the book to be tremendously inspiring.

From the mid-to-late 1980s, Guru played a lot of tennis. I think I can speak for all of the guys who made up my small circle of close friends amongst the locals -- Databir, Ketan, Bipin, Pulin, and later Sagar, amongst others -- that late summer afternoons at the court were the best of times. Within the Center, Guru had a pecking order for whom he would play tennis with and in what order.

In New York, Databir was at the top of that pecking order and they'd play together for hours sometimes. The intensity with which Databir would return the ball to Guru -- often with both feet leaving the ground as he whacked the ball with his forehand -- was something to behold.

As people look back upon the disciples of Sri Chinmoy, it may be tempting for some to overlook Databir. That would be a mistake.

Databir's humility makes him small, almost invisible. In this regard, he reminds me of one of Sri Ramakrishna's little known disciples: Durga Charan Nag, or as he was called by those who knew him, Nag Mahasay.

In comparing Swami Vivekananda and Nag Mahasay, it was said that both escaped the net of Maya by different means. While Swamiji became too big to be ensnared by the net of illusion, Nag Mahasay became too small, ultimately slipping through the mesh.

I won't recount Nag Mahasay's biography here, but it's worth the read if you haven't read about him before. (Here's a link to Guru's retelling of some Nag Mahasay's biographical anecdotes.) What gives his humility power, however, is the fact that in being humble, Nag Mahasay -- like Databir -- was really sacrificing something. In other words, it's relatively easy to be a humble person when you don't have extraordinary skills or capabilities. If you're small by nature, it's not a big stretch to embrace the way of humility.

Databir's all-encompassing humility aside, under the surface there is nothing small about him. He has a prodigious, well-trained mind coupled with a physical energy that has outpaced all of his spiritual peers.

If you ask who was Guru's best disciple, then the answer is simple.

It's Databir.

Nobody else comes close.

The photo of Databir, above, was taken by Unmesh. You can see his other fine photos here. You can visit the Nag Mahashay Ashram here.