Personal Chauffeur
Jasper, not his real name, was a former chauffeur of Prem Rawat. He has since passed away. This is one account of many. More are posted here.
10th August 2011 – Final Arrival
It started out like a routine arrival. After long hours of intense preparation, I finally overheard the radio transmission from the waiting room at the hanger. Gulfstream tail number N54PR was about 30 minutes out. With great anticipation, I took one last long, deep, silent breath, and pushed my body up from the chair. Every muscle and fiber was called quickly to full alert while I remained immersed in the swirling comfort of complete surrender. Once through the doorway, I made my way to the Mercedes and slid confidently behind the wheel. Ignition; check, mirrors; check, temperature; check, music; check, lighting; check, bottled water; check….., all systems; check.
With both hands gripping the wheel, I slowly edged the car into position. I had scouted out the perfect parking space to be in full view of the plane as it taxied towards its final resting spot. I took a few more deep breaths to numb all thoughts, with nothing left but the longing to be with him. That was all that mattered; for all time, all space, and for all eternity. Nothing and everything was put in motion only for this moment. And here I was, about to be alone with him. There was no way I could begin to understand the blessings and great fortune that put me here. So, I let that go too, along with all other thoughts and feelings. Just be present and alive and evaporate into a misty cloud of pure gratitude.
The plane pulled to a stop and sat there for several interminable minutes. Nothing happened. Something wasn’t right. Usually things moved very quickly when he arrived. More long minutes passed by. Finally the door slowly opened and the copilot released the stairs. They folded down with the last step resting on a red carpet on the tarmac. Again, nothing else happened. I stared impatiently at the open door and the waiting stairs for several more long minutes. Then suddenly Monica, his traveling companion for this trip, appeared and paused at the top of the stairway. She stood there briefly, adjusting her skirt and tight, low cut blouse with her blonde hair tossed by the breeze. She waltzed down each step, full figured, self-assured, towards the limo that waited off to the side for the guests. She disappeared inside the limo and then it slowly pulled away.
More long minutes passed. Ten, then twenty minutes. A full half an hour went by. It felt like forever. My eyes remained fixated on that open door. Finally, there he was, standing at the top of the stairs tightly gripping the handrails on either side of the landing. But something wasn’t right. Patrick, his valet, stood close behind and seemed to coax him to move forward and down the steps. I wondered solemnly and with grave concern if my Master was all right. Never had I seen him look so small and weak. He proceeded hunched forward, with Patrick bringing up the rear, to help stabilize each step. As they approached the car I held the door open, and with a wave of my hand guided him towards the back seat. He stumbled a bit, bumped into me, then brushed past as he nearly fell into place and slid half way over to the middle. Patrick quickly closed the door behind him and jumped in the front passenger seat. I returned to my driver’s position and with one last safety check and security scan, locked the doors, put the car in gear, gently squeezed my foot to the gas pedal, and headed towards the exit.
After passing through the security gate I finally offered a warm, friendly greeting, then paused anxious for his reply. Silence. Patrick with his head deliberately turned away from me, stared quietly out the window at the moving pavement. He looked tense and concerned. More silence. I hesitated to speak another word and then glanced in the rear view mirror to get a brief look at my Master. He sat slumped slightly forward, bracing himself with both hands at his sides with his open palms pressing hard on the seat. He was blankly looking at the floor and seat backs in front of him, and seemed oblivious to his location or surroundings.
As I began to vaguely understand what was happening it became increasingly more difficult to process the situation. Part of me began to comprehend the obvious; my Master, Maharaji, Lord of the Universe, who I fully believed was God Himself in a physical body, was sitting there thoroughly drunk in the back seat of my car. But at the same time, that explanation was simply unacceptable, no matter how true it might be. It just seemed impossible, or at least I didn’t want to believe it. That conclusion completely challenged the entire foundation of my beliefs. So I tried to mentally fabricate an alternative explanation, while at the same time, trying not to think at all. I desperately needed to engage my mind and come to terms with what was happening, but all my years of conditioning and training were screaming at me not to. I knew it would be inappropriate to say anything or even ask what was wrong. If he was that drunk, I was certain I’d be expected to just overlook it and pretend not to notice. It really wasn’t any of my business and besides, he could do whatever he wanted without having to ever explain himself to any of us mere mortals. If he needed any help, surely Patrick would have said something. So I cautiously didn’t mutter another word while trying to safely and smoothly drive the car.
The silence thickened, then suddenly a garbled, cackling sound came from the back seat. He was muttering to himself, trying to formulate some kind of verbal expression, but then out of nowhere he simply began to laugh out loud. The hollow sound of that laugh against the sullen quiet background inside the car rang through the air. But it wasn’t the kind of laugh that made others want to join in. It wasn’t a hardy ha ha kind of laugh or even a laugh that had any reference to something truly funny. Instead, it was a twisted, resentful, superior, haughty kind of laugh. He wasn’t really laughing about anything. He was laughing at something or at someone. I glanced at him again through the rear view mirror. His eyes were glazed, red faced, and he was mouthing soundless words, while laughing hysterically, absorbed in his own private joke. He sat there on the edge of the seat, giddy with self-delight, laughing senselessly, but only to himself.
Then through the fog of my gridlocked thoughts and suppressed emotions, I realized exactly what he found to be so very, very funny. It was a shocking realization, but undeniable in its crystalline clarity. What I so abruptly began to understand was not really funny at all. In fact it was stone cold sobering, and in stark contrast to the sloppy, reckless, and drunken behavior I was witnessing in the back seat. I had suddenly realized he was laughing contemptuously at those of us who tirelessly served him. He was laughing at me, while I was doing my absolute best to provide for his safety and comfort. He was laughing at everyone who held him in such high honor and trust, while he was able to behave with repugnant disgrace. He had tricked us all and gotten away with it. Now, in a drunken stupor, he just could not control himself and laughed in absolute victory, self-satisfied in his ability to willfully manipulate those he had coerced into servitude. He truly was the Master and they were his slaves. And they (me) didn’t even know it. And that was very funny to him, in his condition, at exactly that moment in time.
It continued to be a strange couple of days. I remained horribly conflicted about what had happened while having absolutely no means to even begin to internally process it. So I tried to stuff any stray thoughts or feelings deep inside hoping they would dissolve away or some mystical explanation would surface at a more appropriate time. But it wasn’t working. I was shaken up and struggled to get through the next few days as I remained in standby to cater to his every desire. Only I wasn’t needed or asked for anything and anxiously waited alone in my hotel room, simmering in a quasi-meditative tangled state of confusion, for the duration of the trip.
Finally, it was time for the departure. I pulled the car up to the residence and stopped at the front door. This time he marched confidently up to the car, opened the door, sat down right beside me, and looked straight ahead. Patrick quickly jumped in the back seat, pulled the door shut, and we were off to the airport. Not a word was said for the entire 20 minute ride. When we arrived at the plane, he got out, walked away, and never looked back or said a single word. Stunned, I remained in the car until the plane had taken off and was a good 30 minutes out. Then I began the long drive home, lost in conflicting thoughts about what had just happened.
Nothing was ever the same. I began to feel a stirring from within that I couldn’t suppress and couldn’t deny. There were questions that needed to be answered and they weren’t going away. There was a seed of doubt that had found its way inside of me. And while I tried to leave no room for it to grow, it was rampantly consuming more and more space within my mind. Was he really God in person or was he something less? Was he still worthy of being my Master? Or was it me who had it wrong and just needed to readjust? If I couldn’t understand who he was, how could I find the right terms to define our relationship? And that laugh I had heard. Never had I heard a sound that had such an odd but distinctive meaning to it. There was something that was said in that laugh that was undeniably true.
Part of me had begun to look at things differently. I was haunted by that hollow but piercing laugh. At the same time and after over 30 years of training, the conditioned part of myself was full of denial, determined to neutralize this confusion, and return to a state of focused devotion. I was torn apart but tried not to feel or admit it. But I had to know more about this strange side of my Master I had followed for most of my life. Was he a Master of perfection as I fully hoped and believed him to be? Or was he just a Master of deception with a bad drinking problem? The more I looked at it, the more disturbed I became. I realized that he was neither of those Masters but he was definitely a drunk. And from that final realization, a deeper pain began to settle in as I slowly understood the truth of the situation; he really was just a Master of nothing at all and I had simply been a fool to follow him.