I got leave after a long time. Packed my army uniform in a backpack, dressed in my T shirt and shorts and started to my   ancestral village.  Some land transfer into my and my brother’s name required my signature. My brother had already reached there. 

 It is our ancestors' home. Later my parents had moved to a nearby city for our education and the land my father ploughed himself was given on rent to a sharecropper. Now I am in the army. My father had expired and the land was to be transferred to us.

 I was pleased  at the smell of the soil. I fixed eyes on the green field stretching beyond horizon.

  I stayed at my neighbour’s home. We call them masa, masi. My brother had also  arrived there. On the appointed day we went to the nearby tehsil office for  name transferring procedure and it was done in no time. My brother left. I decided to pass a night as insisted by my loving neighbour aunt. I wanted to see what the sharecropper was doing. 

Masi said “Son, when you have come, go and visit the saint nearby, seek his blessings.” 

  I do not believe in the living gods. Masi insisted that the saint is here for over 25 years. It is said he is  over 200 years old, from the Himalayas, is immortal and has his kundalini raised so he can cure any difficult disease or bless a long life.

  I laughed. “Masi, then the nearby hospital would have closed, the saint would be curing all!”

  Aunt said “That is the point. The saint himself advises to go to the hospital but  gives primary treatment. He gives some old Jadibuttis and it can cure instantly. If the disease is severe, he himself sends  people to the doctors. His prayer and blessings never fail."

 I asked if any  such specific incidents were there. She narrated that once a person was bitten by a cobra. Baba just put a blade on the bite, he himself sucked the area and spitted the blood. He did not die. 

  It did not rain in this  village  last year. Baba asked villagers to dig the lake nearby and simultaneously prayed with all villagers. Believe, on the 6th day it did rain and all farms were filled with water.

Baba himself took exit from his material body, saved a fatal accident about to happen in wee hours, and again came back into his body.

  Many have seen Baba leaving his body in wee hours. It is a dead body but after sunrise he is wide awake to perform puja.

  He teaches some 'Lathi daos' to the school boys. Sometimes helps in their studies. Once a boy asked what the Mughal army looked like, he narrated  as if he himself was a soldier fighting against it. Many narrations of the past suggest he may be 350 to 400 years old. At least he must be between 200 to 250 years old. He looks like a man of 40. Regular Yoga, pious life and kundalini arose. Immortality you or I do not possess. He is famous for his cure.

His blessings always come true. People throng from nearby cities and on Sundays and holidays the queue is  two hours long. A separate parking for cars and buses is reserved by the Panchayat.

 I asked if the police ever contacted Baba.  Now the uncle said “Oh, they are his friends. The sub inspector regularly pays visits for his darshan. Through his sixth sense he has shown the culprits who have agreed to the crimes and even prevented crimes by informing them of the likely theft or murder sites. They rely on Baba and reach there before it happens. They also believe in his immortality.

 I wondered if the Baba had his Aadhar card. Uncle said  he managed the crowds when Aadhar camp was there and he himself has a card. Age is entered randomly. No one will believe that a 300 or minimum 200 years old Baba exists in this world. Govt. machinery also confides in him. He is the pride   of our village.   

Now I decided to pay a visit to the immortal Baba. Perhaps my previous  posting in Tibetan region can give some link to the saint. Someone I knew may be his disciple or Guru or  knowing him. I started early the next morning at Baba's Ashram. Must be a good Baba. Nothing adverse is heard of him, on the contrary he seems to be a helping hand. ‘A friend of all, a foe of none.’

 I arrived early and parked masa’s tractor in the field. Many cars and some 56seater buses were already parked there. I went in the queue. The eastern sky was pink, birds were singing on nearby trees. A fresh breeze of air filled my lungs. There was a well maintained garden with fragrant roses.  Some records played Shiv Mahimna.

Suddenly the sound of temple bells filled the atmosphere and the bright looking saint was seen with an aarti with lighted lamps . He moved the aarti around the deity, threw some drops of water on the crowd. All chanted loudly “Har Har Mahadev.. Har”.

 The Baba waved his hand to the crowd, blessed all and chanted  shlokas. Really pure pronunciations. He addressed the crowd on the need of the day. He hoped all have made toilets and are keeping them clean. He stressed on saving water for coming summer days, to use it wisely for farms.  He said that his blessings, accompanied by work of all will raise the farm production. He blessed the students for board exams starting in a few days.  A separate queue of board aspirants was made to touch the Baba’s feet. After them we progressed and I came ‘sanmukh’, just facing  Amar baba.

There was a strange familiar look in his eyes. He gently touched my head, immediately pressed my shoulders and asked me to sit, to meet him alone after all had gone.  

It was 10 am. The buses left, then the cars. The board students had already left earlier

The villagers touched his feet and left blessed. The baba gestured to me to follow him into a room behind the temple. I entered. It was a simple room, just two folding  chairs, a cot with a white sheet and a small table with some books. I waited for the Baba’s order to sit. Suddenly baba turned to me, held my hand and said enthusiastically “Hi! Manjudi! You at my home?”

 An electric shock of 230 volts passed through my body. It was my nickname used by only my close friends in primary school.  Was the baba  a 'trikaal gyani'? So he knew my name? 

"Namo Narayan” I said and bent to touch his feet. My shoulders were caught in the air. “Manjudi, want two four more thrashes?” 

 I was aghast. Who he may be? Lalo, Mahido, kanu kankatto, lakhman lambo or Jagu Jadio?

I looked at the baba. With a wide smile he said, “Mahidhar koli. Your Mahido.”

 Mahidhar was in my class in std. 1 to 4. It was said he had an encounter with a rajput in the village and had fled to an unknown place, had died unanonymous. Perhaps murdered by the Rajputs who wanted to take revengetake a revenge.

  I asked “Baba, sorry, Mahidhar ji, are you the same? Whosame Who studied with me? ”

 I was cut in the middlein middle of the sentence. “Major mangesh Diwanji, should I address you like that? Call me Mahido. You… Manjudi..” 

We embraced each other tightly. 27 years melted in a second and flew through my eyes. Baba’s eyes were wet.

 “Glad, very glad you are alive.  But why all these? And how come people claim you are 400.. 350.. 200 years old? Please tell me. You were a frank, calm boy from a downtrodden poor family and I am sure you will never tell a lie or cheat anyone. You just can not.”

 “Manjudi, my dear friend, Time is powerful, man is fragile.”

“But what made you to be a Baba of these heights and how people claim you are immortal etc. etc.?”
“My friend, I do not know why and how they claim so. I do not know how the story spread. 

Who was telling the story ? And whose story was it anyway ? 

The words fluttered and flew in the wind. 

and so in the eyes of people I am immortal. Whosoever told it and it spreaded and spreaded.. I have to hold on to it. Let me tell you the entire true story.

You know we were poor koli, lower caste people. My  father had the only small farm just enough to feed our family. The way to the farm, as we have often passed, was going through Harubha Darbar’s farm and he was a bullying, arrogant Rajput. Every time I tried to go to my field, he stood in the narrow way and abused me. He challenged me to go from under his two legs. “Saala kola, want to plough a field, hu? Pass from below my legs. Touch them, take dust from it and go.” He said. I even touched that ***’s feet just to avoid quarrels  but then he narrowed his legs and pressed me in between his legs with force. My belly was aching for days. Once he kicked me on the back and sat on me. One day it was extreme. He urinated  on me saying “Drink. It is Rajput urine. You will be pure.” I was very angry. But the slightest protest will call all Rajputs with swords and I will be killed. I was about 20 then. One day I was going with my ‘Datarda’ (reaping hook) to cut the grass. He stood in the midst of the narrow path and said “Hi, Kola, go through your Bapu (father)’s legs then only you can reach your farm. Ha.. Ha.. Ha.. Like a monster he laughed loudly. He held a thorny cactus stick to pierce my back the moment I bent.  I prayed, “Bapu, Just leave my way. I am getting late.”

“You..***? Show your might. If you have sucked your mother’s milk, try crossing through my legs and see.”

I was in an extreme stage of anger. With force I hit my Datarda  on his two legs, bent and struck on the sides of his both knees. I struck his abdomen. He cried very loudly and I ran. Like water from a tube the stream of blood flew all around.  Listening to his scream some Rajputs from nearby fields rushed. Surely he was dead. Police next, they will kill me, cut me through pieces. To save myself  I ran faster and faster, farther and farther. I did not look back but heard war cries of the Rajputs following me. I cut thorny hedges to make way through some adjoining farms. I knelt like a cat and again ran. Entire day I ran. How many kilometres I do not know. 

 In the evening, I heard ringing of bells of aarti at a nearby temple and went to the priest. I just introduced myself as an orphan, a beggar. I said serpents were spotted nearby so I ran to save life. The priest believed me, gave me water. I requested a shelter for the night. He agreed.

 Next morning I helped him in setting his small backyard farm right. A few days passed, a saint from Varanasi passed by the temple and took me with him. I told him I have studied upto SSC. He taught me sanskrit, many holy rituals and I was his right hand. I thought I would occupy his charge after his death. But politics was dirty at his Math also.  Other disciples envied me and  they made a plan to kill me. I left. I was under the impression Rajput had died there and the police were searching me. I  wanted to surrender. Jail was imminent, but atleast I will not be cut into pieces.

I came back here.  Thinking I was dead, my mother had left the village. Rajputs will not allow her to remain. She was  beautiful, had a shapy body and a labourer woman. She narrowly escaped a gang rape. She sold the land to another heavy headed  criminal non rajput man. She went, god knows where.

I was sleeping one night near the farm I was working at and found a truck taking calves for slaughter. I ran and informed  the police.  They thanked me for helping them. I sensed a gang coming to loot the passersby on a nearby highway so I again went to the police and fought with them. Now I was their friend. 

A boy with a very high fever was brought to me. I poured water from a nearby lake so that his temperature was lowered, gave him neem juice and  he was well. People believed I cured him.

Some  spread rumours that I am 100 years old.  An Aadhar card camp was held in the village. Chaos would have resulted but I kept all in a queue. I maintained discipline. It was late and they wanted to go but I offered them dinner of  'rotla' (millet bread) and requested them to continue till all were attended.  I gave my own finger impressions, pupils scanned to avoid any  doubts in mind of the villagers. My name was asked. I wanted to say Mahidhar koli but the village leader said, "Name him  Amar baba.”  So my name is Amar baba.

 I went to the police and once said I am mahidhar koli, they laughed. The Head constable said ”If he was not burnt, you could have given him life. But he is dead, so his file.” 

I asked about Harubha, the Rajput spreading legs. He said he became very quiet suddenly. Some say some evil energy struck him, some say a wild dog’s ghost bit him on legs, but after that he was quiet and somehow screamed with fear shouting ‘kola kills me’. He met his own fate, died after drinking poisonous liquor. 

But the other Rajputs were determined to pierce my body if they found I am Mahidhar. Now even if I say I am Mahidhar, all call me Amar Baba.

Here greatness is thrust upon me, a small Mahidhar koli of downtrodden caste as Amar baba.”

 I could not decide whether to bend and touch the legs of this so-called ‘untouchable’ or embrace him as my Mahido? He embraced me, said, “Have food at my temple and go, defend the nation. At grassroot level Mahidhar koli is there to defend.” 

He opened the door and the constable saluted me. The disciples touched my feet now. “soldier saab is  given kundalini shakti by the baba.” They said. A luxurious  car  sent  me towards my journey to guard borders. ‘Baba’ was waving his hand in blessings.

-Sunil Anjaria