THE KUNDALINI MEMOIRS OF A YOGA

For the first time since the temple, I felt whole again. And in the silence, with only the soft rhythm of my breath, I realised that the beauty I had seen in Ruhi was not lost, it was now a part of me, guiding me forward.

Chapter 30

The rhythmic drumming of the monsoon rain on the stone ledges of our cave was a melody I had come to love. In our Himalayan sanctuary, Yoga Bhavan, nestled deep within the folds of towering peaks, life followed the pulse of nature.

Clouds hung low, veiling the valleys in shifting mists. The torrents of rain nourished the earth, coaxing life out of every crack and crevice. A fresh scent of a melody of herbs, spices, fruits, vegetables, flowers, and vegetation surrounded us.

Inside the main meditation chamber, I sat cross-legged, surrounded by flickering flames from logs that cast elongated shadows on the cave’s stone walls. It felt as if we had constant visitors with us. Bushie, the snow leopard who had somehow become our companion in this journey of yoga and learning, stretched languidly on the cold floor. His silver-grey fur glistened faintly, as if absorbing the cave’s ambient light.

“You’re staring at me again, Muni,” Bushie drawled, his icy blue eyes peering at me.

“Because I still cannot believe a snow leopard talks. Even after years of hearing you complain about meditation,” I teased. Before Bushie could retort, Yogi Ji entered, the soft rustle of his robe preceding him. His presence always felt warm and personal. Despite the monsoon, he was dry, his bare feet leaving no trace on the stone floor.

“Muni, Bushie,” he said, his deep voice reverberating through the chamber. “It is time.”

Bushie raised his head lazily. “Time for what? Enlightenment or an adventure? One feels more attainable than the other!” Yogi Ji’s serene face remained impassive, but I detected the faintest twinkle in his eyes. “Monsoon is the season of rejuvenation, of transformation. The herbs you collect during this season will carry high energetic potency. You must go forth and gather them. I will make use of them as medicine”

Yogi Ji placed a small carved vial before us. I leaned closer and saw it was filled with red ants—large but remarkably orderly. “These ants will guide you to the herbs. They have been trained for this purpose,” Yogi Ji explained. “But remember, the journey is not merely to gather plants; it is a sadhana—a yogic practice. In your observation of nature, you will sharpen your awareness, deepen your patience, and surrender to the rhythm of the world.”

Bushie looked pleased. “And what happens if we fail, oh wise one?”

Yogi Ji’s gaze rested on Bushie, calm but firm. “In yoga, there is no failure— only lessons. But you have seven days. Time itself is a teacher, and it waits for no one. I need you back here as I have other tasks for you to do.”

On the first morning, we descended from the cave. The world outside was a symphony of life. Raindrops danced on leaves, streams gurgled over rocks, and distant thunder rolled like a celestial drum. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and blooming flowers, an intoxicating blend that invigorated my senses.

The ants scurried ahead, forming perfect trails. I followed their lead while Bushie padded beside me, his massive paws silent on the forest floor.

“This better be worth missing my nap,” he muttered.

“Bushie, this is yoga in action. Karma yoga—working selflessly, connecting to the divine through service. Just think how many visitors pass through Yoga Bhavan yearly who need medical treatment and these herbs and flowers will be useful for that purpose. We will heal a lot of creatures,” I said.

“Right. And my karma is carrying this basket,” he grumbled, flicking his tail.

The ants stopped at a cluster of Kutki plants, their pale blue flowers delicate against the dark soil. I knelt to inspect them. “Kutki,” I murmured. “A liver tonic, blood purifier, and good for digestion.”

Bushie sniffed and sneezed. Further along, near a gurgling stream, we found Brahmi, its tiny, succulent leaves gleaming with raindrops. I plucked a few sprigs. “Good for the mind and memory,” replied Bushie tucking them into the basket. We continued, collecting Ashwagandha—its gnarled roots promising strength and vitality; Jatamansi, its sweet fragrance calming the mind; and Shatavari, a plant revered for its rejuvenating properties.

In a sunny clearing, we encountered the vibrant Rhododendron arboreum, its fiery red blooms a sharp contrast to the green world around it. I inhaled deeply, feeling the floral warmth fill my lungs.

“You know, Muni,” Bushie mused, “I am actually enjoying our expedition as I know that these herbs we are collecting and flowers will be put to good use.

” I smiled. “That is the essence of humility, Bushie. A key to spiritual growth.”

By the sixth day, our basket was brimming with herbs and flowers. But the ants had one destination in mind. They led us to a hidden grove, bathed in dappled sunlight. The ants formed a long trail and ushered both me and Bushie forwards. Bushie wanted to rest and the red ants bit him on the ankle to awaken him and to hurry him forward. We did as asked.

In the centre stood a plant unlike anything I had ever seen. Its flowers were a radiant silver, their glow pulsating faintly, and its leaves shimmered with an iridescent sheen. The air around it was electrified, vibrating with an energy that made my skin tingle.

Bushie’s eyes widened. “What in the Himalayas is that?!”

I shook my head. “I do not know. I am not sure if it is mentioned in Yogi Ji’s encyclopaedia. It is unusual. I certainly have not seen this before,” I remarked.

Yogi Ji’s herbal encyclopaedia was a tome of legends, an ancient compendium of Ayurvedic knowledge that filled an entire chamber on the fifty-seventh level of our cave. Its parchment pages were inscribed with fine Sanskrit and languages I could not understand, detailing thousands of plants, their properties, and their uses. The cover was crafted from sandalwood, encrusted with gemstones, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and diamonds, arranged in intricate mandalas. When sunlight filtered into the chamber, it struck the gemstones, scattering prisms of light that made the room glow – as if illuminated by a thousand candles.

“This isn’t listed there?” Bushie asked, incredulous.

“Not that I’ve seen,” I replied.

“Then we’ve found something new,” he whispered, his tail flicking with excitement. “It would take us around 721 years to just read the encyclopaedia Bushie. This plant must be mentioned in there I am sure but I personally do not know what it is as I have never seen it before.”

“Where are we?” Bushie whispered, his voice trembling.

I shook my head, trying to steady my breath. “I do not know.”

We stood there, side by side, gazing at this alien wilderness. Though fear tugged at the edges of my mind, a deeper part of me—the part Yogi Ji had trained in stillness—felt only wonder.

“Muni,” Bushie said quietly, “I think we’ve stumbled into something extraordinary.”

And so, our journey into the unknown began.

Back at the Yoga Bhavan I carefully ground the plant’s silvery leaves into a paste, mixed it with water, and boiled it into tea. The aroma that wafted up was indescribable—earthy and sweet, with a hint of spice that tingled in my nostrils.

“Here goes something new,” I said, handing Bushie a cup.

“Shall we wait for Yogi Ji? I do not think we should drink an herb we are not sure of. It is dangerous to do so without guidance” asked Bushie.

“Yogi Ji will not return today until sunset. Let us have our tea” I decided.

I rolled my eyes and took a sip. Bushie did the same. It was tasty. The tea was warm, its flavour complex and invigorating. But as the time slowly moved on – a strange sensation overtook me. The world around me blurred and shimmered.

“Bushie… do you feel that?” I asked, my voice barely audible.

He nodded, his usually confident demeanour replaced by wide-eyed awe. “What’s happening?”

The air seemed to dissolve, replaced by an entirely new landscape. Towering trees with blue leaves stretched skyward, their branches entwined like veins. The ground was soft with glowing moss, and a strange, melodic hum filled the air.