The Layout of Vaikunt Ashram

I have come to understand, through the recollections of elders and devotees, that Bhagavan Nityananda’s first arrival in Vajreshwari was both purposeful and mystically charged. He was accompanied by Shri Sitaram Shenoy, a devout follower who had been blessed to travel with the Master on this remarkable journey. Their path took them from Sandhurst Road Station in Bombay to Thane, a route still traversed today by many pilgrims, though few realize the significance it once held. From Thane, they boarded a modest bus that wound its way through Bhiwandi, eventually bringing them to the hallowed lands of Vajreshwari.

Upon reaching the ancient shrine town, nestled in the shadow of the Mandakini hills and known for its healing hot springs, they ascended the stone steps leading up to the temple of Goddess Vajreshwari. At the very entrance, where the majestic lion statue now guards the threshold, Bhagavan paused. With divine awareness, He gently patted the lion’s back and, in a voice filled with commanding serenity, addressed the Devi: “Awake! Soon devotees will come for Darshan.”

These were not mere words; they were a divine invocation—an announcement to the presiding Shakti that the time had come. A new chapter in the spiritual history of Vajreshwari was about to unfold.

Following this sacred moment, Bhagavan instructed Shri Sitaram Shenoy to return, having fulfilled his part in bringing the Avadhuta to this destined place. Bhagavan remained behind for a few days, staying at the spot where the Shree Nath Mandir now stands. His presence there sanctified the space, and it is said that the vibrations of His meditation still linger, felt by those attuned to inner silence.

The Nath Mandir, Vajreshwari

From Vajreshwari, Bhagavan moved a short distance to Akroli, near the hot water springs and the ancient temple of Shree Rameshwar. He took residence in a modest room adjacent to the kundas. It was here that the first stirrings of a following began. Many who had known Him from His earlier years in Karnataka sought Him out—drawn by an unseen force, guided by inner longing. Among them were early devotees like Mr. Rao, Mrs. Susheela Prabhu, and members of my own family, who would often make the journey to sit in His presence.

Mrs. Susheela Prabhu once shared a vivid account from those days: One evening, as devotees sat in silent communion around Bhagavan, a large cobra slithered into the room. Unafraid and undisturbed, the snake came right up to Bhagavan, as if paying its respects. No one moved. The air was thick with awe, not fear. Bhagavan simply looked at the cobra, nodded gently, and the creature turned and departed. The unspoken harmony between man and nature, saint and serpent, left a lasting impression on all present.

However, the people of Akroli were not all welcoming. Some were unsettled by His unconventional ways, His silence, His mystery. Sensing this, Bhagavan quietly moved on to Ganeshpuri—a nondescript village at the time, barely known beyond the locals.

In Ganeshpuri, He first took shelter in a small, thatched hut behind the Bhimeshwar temple. It was a humble beginning, but the sanctity of His presence began to attract sincere seekers. Among the earliest residents near Him were Gangubai and her husband, whose home stood not far from where Kailash Bhuvan is situated today.

After some months, as the number of visitors slowly increased, the devotees approached the local villagers and humbly requested a more suitable place for Bhagavan to reside. Moved by their sincerity—or perhaps subtly influenced by the divine will—small patch of land near a pond opposite today’s Kailash Bhuvan was offered. A simple hut was built there, nestled by the water and shaded by trees. That pond, now filled in, was once a place of quiet beauty and reflection, where devotees would sit, immersed in Bhagavan’s silence.

But the growing stream of visitors made it clear that something more permanent was needed. And so, beside the ancient Bhimeshwar temple, construction began on what would become the main Ashram—the sacred ground where Bhagavan’s Samadhi shrine stands today.

That quiet evolution—from silent ascetic to centre of spiritual magnetism—was not orchestrated by Him. It unfolded organically, guided by unseen hands and the sincere hearts of devotees who recognized the rare light that had come to reside among them.

Lord Krishna

Nandi

Nandi

In those early years, Vaikunth Ashram was a simple, functional place. It comprised only a few rooms and a central hall, flanked by additional chambers in front of and behind the ancient Bhimeshwar temple. It was not the grand complex one sees today, but a modest, sanctified space that quietly began to draw seekers from far and wide.

Behind these rooms, nestled close to the rear of the temple, lived Gangubai—a gentle, deeply devoted woman whose home gradually became part of the Ashram’s ecosystem. Though her original dwelling served mostly as a storage area for utensils, stoves, and basic provisions, she herself became the living soul of hospitality. She took it upon herself to care for visiting devotees, especially those who stayed overnight. Her service was simple but filled with warmth and love, reflecting the ethos of Bhagavan’s path: humility, service, and surrender.

Bhagavan Himself resided in one of the rooms within the hall. That room remains etched in my memory as dark and quiet, with a stillness that seemed to throb with His silent presence. Interestingly, it had no doors—only a small gate or low barricade. In fact, wherever Bhagavan lived, doors were notably absent until His eventual move to the Bangalorewalla building. It seemed to reflect His own nature—wide open, all-accepting, needing no barrier between Himself and the world.

The Shree Krishna Temple nearby came up later. It was built at a place of quiet significance: the very spot where Bhagavan used to wash His Feet after returning from His walks. Those walks often took Him towards the Tansa River, or to Panch Amba, or even to Bhiwali, the site where the present-day hospital now stands. He would return, dust-covered and radiant, to that quiet space near the future Krishna Mandir.

I remember vividly—my sisters, Kusum and Lata, would rush to Him with a bucket of water the moment He returned and lovingly pour it over His Feet. It was an act of pure devotion, and for them, a rare and sacred honour.

At night, the Ashram hall became a dormitory. Children from the village would come and sleep there—in the very space where Bhagavan Himself slept. There was no hierarchy, no separation. In the early hours of the morning, often between 3 and 4 a.m., He would quietly rise and head out for His bath. On returning, He would gently wake the children, nudging them to complete their own ablutions and bathe. And when they returned fresh, He would offer them something to eat—a banana, some jaggery, perhaps a small snack. This rhythm of grace defined the days at the Ashram.

Just outside the hall was a small open courtyard. Bhagavan had the space cleared specifically for the children to play. And play they did—Langdi, Koiba (marbles), Vithi-Dandu, and other village games filled the afternoons with laughter. Sometimes, to their joy and surprise, Bhagavan would join in their games. Yet, He was not merely indulgent—He was a vigilant guide. If the children became too noisy or unruly, He would gently but firmly discipline them. He guided them not only in play, but also in their inner development. He taught them to sit in meditation, to chant, to sing bhajans. His teachings were not imposed—they were imbibed naturally through His example.

Kailash Bhavan - Ganeshpuri

Kailash Bhavan – Ganeshpuri

Later, as the Ashram developed, Bhagavan arranged for musical instruments—tabla, harmonium, manjiras. The children began to enact plays based on Puranic stories—Bhakta Prahlad, Dhruva, Harishchandra, and even Shivaji Maharaj. These performances weren’t just for entertainment; they were vehicles for dharma, helping shape young minds with ideals of devotion, courage, truth, and sacrifice. Bhagavan took a deep, personal interest in nurturing their character, planting in them the seeds of a noble life.

As for Kailash, the more structured building that rose later, it stood in contrast to Bhagavan’s preferences. The rooms had doors, walls, comforts. Even an air-conditioned room was eventually added—initially with a tin sheet roof, later replaced with concrete. Still, Bhagavan preferred the open spaces. Across from the staircase leading to the Kailash terrace stood a simple shed-like structure. This was where He often spent His time—simple, unpretentious, aligned with the natural world.

Summers in Ganeshpuri could be mercilessly hot. Concerned devotees, hoping to offer Him some comfort, installed an air conditioner in the north-facing shed. But Bhagavan seldom used it. He remained, as always, indifferent to heat or cold. His life was an offering, His body merely a tool of divine will. He lived without enclosure, both literally and spiritually—open, vast, and accessible to all.

However, as His fame grew, the number of devotees swelled. An unending stream of seekers, the sick, the sorrowful, and the curious began to flow toward Ganeshpuri. Out of necessity, attendants and close devotees began to enforce restrictions. It was not to isolate Him, but simply to give Him a few moments of rest amid the constant pull of compassion. Even then, anyone with a true longing in their heart found their way to Him.

Bhagavan Nityananda was never hidden. He never distanced Himself. But His silence, His stillness, and His childlike openness created a presence so vast that only the heart could fully enter.

Kailash Bhavan - GaneshpuriKailash Bhavan – Ganeshpuri

To help offer a clearer understanding of the original layout of Vaikunt Ashram, we reached out to senior devotees who had first-hand familiarity with the site. The late Shri Ramanth Prabhu, son of Mrs. Susheela Prabhu, kindly sketched a freehand layout based on his vivid recollections. This drawing, now shared above, has been validated by several devotees who still remember the Ashram from those early days. We have also included a long-shot photograph of the Ashram to provide additional visual context.

That said, I consider this post a work in progress. I continue to seek out further details and confirmations. As and when new information surfaces, I will update this account and make necessary corrections.

The content shared here is drawn from what I remember as a child of six, along with accounts received from other devotees over the years. I welcome any corrections, clarifications, or additional insights from those who may remember differently or know more.

Let this be a collective effort to preserve the living memory of Bhagavan’s sacred presence in Vaikunt Ashram.