Bhagavan Nityananda as I remember

My Father………..X To remain ceaselessly connected

 

The Month of Shravan – A Reminiscence from Ganeshpuri

Most of the heavy rains have passed. The thunder has quieted. Now arrives the gentle, fragrant, and sacred month of Shravan—a time when nature breathes freshness and devotion stirs in every heart. The entire land around Ganeshpuri transforms into a lush green tapestry. The mountains wear shawls of mist. Paddy fields sway in emerald rhythm, and winding rivulets snake gracefully through the countryside, whispering softly as they pass.

The ponds, now full, teem with life. Frogs croak their monsoon songs, and boys, armed with small nets, wade into muddy waters, hoping to catch fish with more enthusiasm than success. The sky plays hide and seek with the sun—one moment it’s dark with brooding clouds, the next a golden beam lights up a field. Sometimes it rains selectively, as if by divine mischief—one patch gets drenched, while its neighbour stays dry. Rice saplings glistened under the pale light, and the frogs, now in abundance, leapt joyfully across the fields. Everywhere was green—the mountain Mandakini draped in a thick shawl of moss and foliage. Inside, Bhagavan sat in profound stillness. From the roof, drops of rainwater fell rhythmically, accentuating rather than breaking the silence. Birds, their wings heavy with rain, clung to the grills as if drawn by the very taste of quietude that filled the hall.

In one such moment, He extended His hand and held my cheek gently between His long index and middle fingers, His eyes gazing deep into mine. My father, watching close by, was overcome with goosebumps—witnessing the boundless love His Guru poured upon his son.

Shravan is also a month of festivals. Every Monday is dedicated to Lord Shiva, and the air echoes with the chants of Om Namah Shivaya. Fridays are sacred to Manglauri Devi, and special pujas are performed by the women. Then comes Nag Panchami, Raksha Bandhan, and Narali Poornima, when coconuts are offered to the sea. Soon after, Krishna Janmashtami brings night-long bhajans, and already the heart begins to prepare for the arrival of Lord Ganesha in the coming month of Bhadrapad. It is a season when both the land and the spirit are abundantly nourished.

During Shravan, Bhagavan Nityananda mostly remained within the sanctum of the Vaikuntha, His humble yet radiant abode in Ganeshpuri. The village, quieter than usual, saw fewer visitors. Only the most regular devotees came by. The rest seemed to have intuitively understood that this was a time of inner retreat—for nature, and for Bhagavan too.

The forests around yielded seasonal gifts—tender bamboo shoots, wild greens like Kantole, Taikala, and a variety of edible roots. These were gathered by villagers and my mother and aunts prepared  rare Konkani delicacies. Dishes like Kirlabajhi, Ambade chutney, Taikala leaf sabji, Madi phodi, Phagilapjodi, and Gajbaji—each bursting with earthy flavours—were offered to Bhagavan, served hot with steamed rice. He would partake a little and then ask that the rest be shared with all present.

He was always served only when He asked. Yet, there were many occasions when He would quietly instruct, “Keep some aside. There will be visitors.” And sure enough, someone would arrive later, often unexpectedly—tired, hungry, and amazed that food was already waiting. One such moment remains etched in memory. Shri A.T. Patil, son-in-law of Shri Banurao Khade, arrived late one evening without any prior notice. Yet, Bhagavan had already asked the attendants to keep food aside, saying, “A devotee is coming.”

How did He know?

This was Bhagavan—beyond time, beyond distance, aware of every ripple in the ocean of His devotees’ lives. In the quiet green stillness of Shravan, with fewer voices and deeper silences, one felt this even more. It was as though the very hills, the leaves, the rain, and the rice steaming in the kitchen all bowed before Him in stillness and surrender.

In those days, every meal shared, every rain-soaked evening, every unexpected guest became a leela, a sacred play of the Guru who knew no boundaries. Shravan was not just a season. It was a state of grace.