I met the Black Baba in Kathmandu.
The city is like a maze of colorful houses, each one built upon a history of kind devotion to the Hindu gods; connected with fierce and rickety outdoor electric wires. The air smells of incense, sewage and heavy traffic. The streets are filled with people, hustling and bustling with more or less good intentions.
There are signs of poverty everywhere. There are also signs of hope and timeless strength.
The people seem to be happy and content with their lives. It was a strange mix I couldn’t figure out, but I liked that kind of mystery. My parents had taken me to Kathmandu as a kid, and on the whole it didn’t seem to have changed much.
People flocked to this special city in order to experience… something. I had decided to stay in Kathmandu for at least a month to learn more. Everyone I talked to said it was a place of magic. ”It’s a place where anything can happen. It’s a place where anything is possible.” But most of those people were young and stoned, and looking for something they just couldn’t define. Very much like myself, I guess. Alone in big crowds.
I first met the Black Baba in a restaurant. I was sitting by myself eating a plate of noodles when I saw him walk in. He was medium height, in his late 50s, blonde with piercing blue eyes peeking out through thick glasses; he had a build that reminded me of Buddha: happily pudgy. He wore a black linen suit. The whole look was topped off with a well worn Panama hat. When he removed it, I could see the sweat on his bald head.
It was obvious to me that he was a spiritualist of sorts. The locals looked at him with awe in their eyes and greeted him reverently.
I didn’t believe in any of that nonsense.
I usually mocked people who pretended to be spiritual; especially those who claimed to have magical powers. I knew the type all too well. I grew up around people like that. I grew up on the road. My parents were hippies who traveled from place to place, following whatever guru was in fashion. I had seen it all before. I knew for a fact they had been to Kathmandu many times. And here I was, looking at a scene my parents has probably also experienced at some point.
I knew what the Black Baba was: a fake.
I watched him as he made his way through the restaurant, greeting people along the way. Everyone he passed nodded to him as he went by, like some kind of local celebrity.
I had never seen anything like it. My waiter could tell. ”He’s a magic man,” he whispered to me.
The magic man apparently had a way of making people feel special, like they were the only ones that mattered.
Finally, he reached my section and sat down at the table right beside me. He smiled and bowed.
“Namaste.”
I nodded back. “Namaste.”
He ordered a salad and some mineral water.
As we ate, I casually asked him about his background. He told me that he was Scandinavian.
“People treat you like… some kind of Guru,” I said.
“That is what I am known as,” he said. “The Black Baba.”
He smiled at me with a knowing look in his eyes. I didn’t like it.
“Do you live here?” I asked.
He nodded. “For many years, yes.”
I decided to push my luck. “Are you a guru?”
“No. I am not a guru. I am only a man who knows some things that you do not.”
I scoffed. “What makes you so special?”
He leaned in close, looking me in the eye. “I have spent my life studying magic. I know the secrets of the universe.”
I laughed. “Then why haven’t you done anything with your life?”
He shrugged. “I have done everything that I have wanted.”
I was confused. “But why not more?”
“That is not how magic works. There must be balance in all things.”
I didn’t believe him. It was all standard bullshit. I had seen many people like him over the years. They were all the same: promising big things but delivering nothing. They were just pretenders.
I shook my head. “I’m not buying it.”
“That is fine. You can’t buy what is not for sale, anyway. Not everyone believes in the same things.”
“I believe what I see.”
The Black Baba smiled. “Then you will not believe in much.”
I felt like I was being played with. “Really? I have seen a lot,” I said.
“I’m sure you have. But I doubt that you have seen enough.”
I didn’t like the way he was talking to me. “I have seen more than most people.”
He looked me in the eye again. “If that were really the case, then you would probably not be sitting here with me.”
I felt my temper flare up. “Really? I could leave at any time,” I snarled.
He shrugged. “You do not see enough. So… you will stay.”
“I don’t think so.”
He leaned in close. “Look into my eyes,” he said.
I did. He stared back at me intensely. I felt his gaze bore into my mind, as if he were actually reading my thoughts. I tried to look away but I couldn’t. His gaze was too powerful. I felt myself being pulled into his eyes. I couldn’t stop it. It was a terrifying feeling; it was a feeling that I never wanted to experience again. Finally I pulled back, breaking the gaze.
He leaned back, too. “I have seen into your soul,” he said.
I knew that he was right. I couldn’t deny it. I had felt it. It was true.
Suddenly, he stood up to leave. He had already finished his salad. “I will see you tomorrow,” he said. “Come to the Monkey Temple at dawn.”
I watched as he left, angry at having been toyed with, but somehow perplexed in a way I couldn’t explain. I didn’t believe in any of that stuff. I didn’t believe in magic. I didn’t believe in spiritualists. I didn’t know what to make of it, so I finished my lunch and left. Maybe some perfectly normal tourism would help clear my mind?
The next morning I went to the ancient Monkey Temple as agreed. It is an old stone stupa that is visited and revered by everyone, it seems. The air is cool there. It smells of incense. There is a beautiful view of the city from the patios of the surrounding restaurants.
I saw him standing on the balcony of a restaurant, looking out over the city. He wore a white linen suit this time. It matched his Panama hat perfectly.
I approached him and he turned to look at me.
“So you came after all,” he said.
“I did.”
He smiled. “I knew that you would.”
“How did you know?”
“I am not sure. I just did.”
“You read my mind yesterday,” I said.
“Yes. I did.”
I had a million questions running through my head. “What exactly happened?” I asked.
“I told you,” he said. “I looked into your soul.”
“There is no such thing as a soul.”
“That is what you think. But thinking won’t get you far. Quite often, thinking is just a dead end. And you seem to be looking more for a living beginning. Am I right?”
I didn’t know what to say.
He looked out over the city. “Come,” he said. “Let me show you something.”
He led me across the balcony. We stopped at the edge, looking out over the city. I could see the roofs of the buildings, the chaos of the electric wires, the serene intensity of Nepali city life. I could see the people walking up and down the streets: Hindus, buddhists, Tibetans in exile, tourists, beggars… Even some dogs… It was a beautiful sight. And then the giant stupa monument so close to us.
“What did you want to show me?” I asked.
“Only that. It’s called Swayambhu… It means self-created.”
I didn’t understand. “That is all?”
He looked out over the city again. “This is all there is,” he said. “There is no more than this.”
I didn’t believe him. “You said yesterday that you knew magic,” I said. “Where is it?”
“Don’t you see it?” he asked.
I looked around. “I don’t see anything.”
“You do not see. You do not feel. And yet you think you do.”
I was starting to get angry. “I mean, I don’t see anything special,” I said.
“You have not learned to see,” he answered. “You have not learned to feel.”
I didn’t know what he was talking about. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t explain this to you unfortunately. It is something that you must learn on your own.”
“You won’t help me? Is that it?”
He shook his head. “I believe… You must learn on your own.”
I didn’t know what to make of it. “I don’t know how,” I said.
He kept looking at me. “You must first learn to know yourself.”
“How do I do that?”
“That is something that you must also learn on your own.”
“You won’t help me? OK, thanks a lot.”
He shook his head. “Again, I cannot. It is also something that you must do yourself.”
I was extremely disappointed in the Black Baba’s evasiveness, and even more disappointed in my own having believed in him for a brief moment. What a waste of time… I left him without even saying good-bye.
It all bugged me. Now I was becoming obsessed with finding things out, and I hated being in front of some weird, abstract mystery. I decided to seek out someone who actually knew what they were doing. I decided to seek out some local guru, some wise old Hindu or Buddhist monk, or whoever, as much as it made me laugh at a myself. But no-one else knew, so… so what?
Manic, and more and more desperate, I started to ask around. I went into a shop filled with religious knick-knacks. An old, wrinkled Nepalese woman was sitting behind the counter. She wore a red sari, with her grey hair tied back in a ponytail.
I greeted her. “Namaste.”
She looked at me. “Namaste.”
After nervously looking at her for a while, I asked her where I could perhaps find a guru. She looked at me for a moment. Perhaps she had heard that question a million times?
“There is one for people like you,” she said. “He lives in the mountains. Close to Wariphur.”
I was excited. “Where exactly?”
She shook her head. “I do not know. I have not seen him in many years. Maybe you should go there? Ask there?”
I thanked her and left. Over the following days I made preparations and then went by bus as far as I could. It took several hours to get there. I was tired when I arrived but didn’t want to sleep until I had found what I was looking for.
I asked around and eventually I found someone who at least looked like a guru. He was sitting on a bench outside of a small cottage. He wore a dirty brown tunic. His hair was long and wild in dreadlocks, and his beard long and dirty. He looked at me as I approached.
“Namaste,” I said.
“Namaste.”
I asked him if he was a guru. He looked at me for a moment, then shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I am not the guru. But I know the guru.”
I was excited. “Where can I find him?”
“I do not know. He moves from place to place.”
“Do you know anyone who does know?”
The old man nodded, smiling. “There is a woman who lives in the next village. She may know.”
I thanked him and left the following morning. I walked over the lush hills to the next village. It took a whole day to get there but it was truly a lovely walk in spectacular landscapes. I was tired when I arrived, but I asked around until I found the old woman. She was sitting on a bench outside of a small hut, and looked at me and smiled as I approached.
“Namaste,” I said.
“Namaste.”
I asked her about the guru. She looked at me for a moment, then nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “I know of a guru.”
I was excited. “Where can I find him?”
“I do not know. He moves from place to place.”
“Do you know anyone who does know?”
The woman nodded. “There is a man who lives in the next village. He may know.”
I thanked her and then fell asleep in a simple room in a guesthouse, exhausted by the walking and the feeling of being close to something I could not define. The next morning, I kept walking through the serene landscape to the next village. I asked around until I found the man. He was sitting on the ground under a big tree, meditating. He also had dreadlocked hair and a wild beard. He looked the part perfectly, and waved at me as I approached carefully.
“Namaste,” I said.
“Namaste.”
I asked him if he was the guru. He looked at me for a moment, then shook his head.
“No,” he said. “But I know of him.”
“Where can I find him?”
“Oh… He is in Kathmandu.” The old man pointed in the direction I had come from. “Go back the way you came.”
I was shocked and then depressed. I had walked all this way for nothing. What an amazing waste of time and energy.
I thanked the man and left right away, feeling utterly sorry for myself. I walked through the hills, the mountains, and eventually came back to the city. It took several days to get back there. But it was a lovely trek, and I saw so much beauty in the people, the children, the animals, the landscape… I guess it wasn’t wasted time after all. At least that was what I told myself. That Baba guy had been full of crap, and he had definitely tricked me. But why? Well, it no longer mattered so much to me. I was exhausted, and looked forward to getting back to my routines as a normal tourist. And to going home to America.
Once back in Kathmandu, I went to my favorite restaurant and sat down at my usual table. I was very surprised to find the Black Baba sitting there, too, at the next table. I just laughed out loud when he greeted me.
“I told you that I would see you again,” he said.
I nodded. “You did.”
“You have been away. What did you learn?”
I shrugged. “Not much.”
“That is to be expected. You weren’t ready, I guess.”
I didn’t like getting involved in his mind-games again. “Oh, really? How do I become ready, then?”
“You must first learn to know yourself.”
“I thought that was what I was doing.”
He shook his head. “No. You were not.”
“Then how do I learn?”
“That is something that you must figure out for yourself.”
“I take for granted you won’t help me?”
“On the contrary. I am helping you. You’re just not seeing it.”
I didn’t see how he was helping me. I didn’t see how anything was happening, or why. He was getting on my nerves – again.
“Have you learnt nothing at all?” the Baba asked me. “Even from all that walking?”
“Perhaps,” I said.
He nodded. ”Perhaps it is a start… Perhaps.”
“But what do I do now?”
“You must walk again. And stop thinking.”
I didn’t know what to say. I ate my food in silence. I was deeply disturbed by his arrogance, and by the fact that I couldn’t break free from his weird grip. Why was he even there in the first place?
That was it. I had had it, and got up and left. I thought I heard him chuckling behind my back.
The next day, I walked through the city to the edge of town and beyond, just walking and walking. Eventually, I stopped and looked back. The mountains rose up in the distance. The sun was setting. It looked so beautiful.
I had never seen anything like it in the same way; maybe because I was leaving the pollution of the valley behind.
The next morning, I started walking again. I walked for days on end in mixed emotions. I thought about everything that had happened. I thought about the Black Baba. I thought about the guru who wasn’t there. Or was he? I thought about the people I had met, and how kind they all had been.
Gradually, I realized something. I realized that I had been looking in the wrong place. I realized that I had been looking for answers outside of myself. I realized that they were all telling me the same thing but in different ways – sometimes even in silence. They were all telling me to look within myself for the answers to any questions I may have had.
Arriving at a small village at sunset, I asked a family if I could have shelter for the night. They agreed, and said they’d bring me something to eat and drink. I was amazed at how kind they were. I offered them some money but even though they were obviously poor, they refused. They showed me to the back of their house, where there was a small garden. I sat down at a rickety table. There was another man there. He took off his hat and looked at me. It was the Black Baba man. I just stared at him, thinking I must be hallucinating in my exhaustion.
But he was real, very real. He smiled at me and said “I knew you’d see eventually.”
I just couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know what to say. He was right though. I had seen. I had finally understood. He reached over and patted me on the arm. “Good work. Keep it up.” Then he simply stood up and walked away down the gravel road in the dusk. I never ever saw him again.
I have been back in the States for a while now and sometimes when I am alone and quiet I can still feel him patting me on the arm, and sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can still smell Kathmandu. It makes me remember. It makes me smile and feel.
I am still walking. I am still searching. But now at least I know where to look. And I know that I am not alone.
© 2024 Carl Abrahamsson
