It was thanks to the
friendship with two guards that Samirluca managed to get to the
first basement of the
Lahore Fort prison, in which Isha, his
guru, was locked up. The two jailers had
led him to the entrance of a corridor dug into the limestone rock
where a series of cells, equipped with sturdy railings, were
arranged along the sides of the walls. The two guards stood in the
shadows waiting for him. They couldn’t risk being seen by the other
prisoners, because they knew very well that, the moment Isha was
known to have escaped, they could be recognized and, therefore,
blamed for his escape. «It’s the fifth on the left», said Tushar
with a low and excited voice. «Come on, Samir, we’ll be waiting for
you here», urged Aditya, handing him a lit torch. In the light of
that fire, the young man walked into the dark corridor. Although
there were three tunnels dug into the ceiling, which, reaching
outside, served as air intakes, the humidity and the acrid smell of
urine was very strong in that narrow passage. Samirluca used his
arm to cover his nose and mouth to filter that unhealthy air with a
corner of his dress. As he went, he counted in his mind:
"one…two…three…four…five". It didn’t take him more than twelve
paces to find himself in front of the bars of the fifth cell. He
raised the torch, spreading the flickering light of the flame, but
it wasn’t enough; it was too dark down there. «
Svāmī, are you there?», Samirluca asked in
a low voice, stretching his neck and squinting to better probe the
darkness. «What do you want? Who are you?» Isha’s hoarse, weak
voice came forward from the dark end of the dungeon. «I’m Samir».
«Samir who?». «Samirluca, your pupil. I am here to take you away,
svāmī». «Samir? Boy, how did you get here?». «I’ll explain later
svāmī, but let’s go now, we don’t have much time». Isha, wearing
the ocher prison tunic, got up with difficulty from the floor,
stretched his legs and back and walked mournfully towards the light
of the torch. Isha’s characteristics made him a unique guy,
recognizable in the midst of a crowd. His presence could fill the
square on market days: his beard and hair were of a very light
blond. When he arrived under the flickering light of the torch as
emaciated as he was from the days of segregation, Samirluca
recognized him immediately ... but Isha recognized him too. «Samir,
why are you dressed in a
sari?». Given the decidedly out of place
question, Samirluca thought that the man, due to the rigid prison
regime, was in a state of confusion. «It’s not a sari, it’s the
comfortable and enveloping linen garment that I usually wear»,
replied the young man in a low voice and in a patient tone, more
worried about the risk he was running at that moment than for his
unusual attire for a male Indian.
Samirluca, despite being a
fourteen-year-old boy, had a free spirited character. How
open-minded and multicultural he was, was written in that strange
name that his mother, an Indian from Harappa, had given him: Samir
was the name of his Arabian grandfather whom he grew up within the
family. Luca was that of his Italian father, who died before little
Samir was born. Completely detached from the customs and trends of
the society in which he lived, the young man was anomalous in his
attitudes and thoughts. Despite an innate shyness, those
characteristics made him a somewhat eccentric character, sometimes
a little bizarre, but certainly not banal. Committed to
understanding life and its mysteries (he had a strong propensity
for spirituality and the occult), he had gone so far as to attend
the
ashram of Isha. Precisely because of the
boy’s out of the ordinary personality, they, had welcomed him and
taken him under their guidance with much enthusiasm. The young
student, in clothing, as in other areas of daily life, followed his
own taste which focused decidedly on practicality rather than on
aesthetics. Therefore, although one might assume he was wearing
what might have seemed like female garment, he cared little about
people’s gossip as long as he felt comfortable.
«Maybe, but it looks like a sari
to me. Also aunt Tamira dresses in things like that. Wouldn’t it
have been more comfortable to dress in a tunic?». «Yes svāmī, it
could be», answered Samirluca, concentrating on rummaging in the
pocket made in the sheet he was wearing. In a few moments, he
pulled out the heavy set of keys that his friends had given him and
opened the gate that relegated the prisoner from the rest of the
world. Isha, dragging his feet, crossed the threshold of his
prison, leaning on the shoulders of the pupil, who closed the cell.
The boy passed his arm around his guru’s side. Being much taller
than Samirluca, the two walked awkwardly towards the guards waiting
for them at the entrance to the detention area. A convict locked up
next to Isha had woken from his sleep due to the unusual noise the
two were making at that time of night. He looked out into the
corridor, the only spectator of the escape in progress. As they
passed him, he reached through the bars and stroked the young
guru’s tunic. «May
Prajapati protect you,
Ishvara svāmī». Isha, confused, stopped and
turned his gaze in the dark towards that voice, but, such was his
weakness, that he wondered if that greeting had come from his mind
or from someone “out there”. «Let’s go, – said Samirluca urging the
man to move – Satyabrata svāmī is waiting for us upstairs». When
the two reached the corridor entrance, the guards, without saying a
word and in perfect military coordination, lined up on either side
of Isha, lifting him off the ground. Samirluca, torch in hand, led
the way up the stairs to reach the upper floor. The guru seemed to
fly up five ramps, escorted by the military. Thus they reached the
ground floor of the building, where, in a corner of the room,
Isha’s old uncle, Satyabrata, was crouching. When the four arrived,
the man came out of the shadows to go towards them.
Although he was fifty-three years
old, you would have thought he was at least ten years younger. His
profound knowledge of breathing techniques, performed daily, had
slowed down his biological clock, preserving in the man a light
tone of voice and a youthful appearance, a peculiarity that his
acquaintances envied. Under an orange turban, he kept his thick,
still dark hair gathered together while his long, flowing beard
covered most of his chest. Of Jewish origin, he was considered the
older brother of Isha’s mother although, in reality, he was an
adopted cousin at an early age. Being descended from the lineage of
Aaron, his destiny would have led him to
become a member of the Sanhedrin. His preparation for that role had
therefore made him leave for Kashmir, to join a Jewish community
and undertake the study of religions and cultures of that part of
the world. But, as the sages say: “The destiny of man is as if it
were written in the sand”, at the slightest gust of wind,
everything can change. In his case, however, what happened was more
like a storm. Shortly before completing those studies, he in fact
had a mystical experience: the detachment from the material body.
The man found himself for a few moments observing him from the
ceiling of the room where he was sitting in meditation. After an
initial moment of terror, which made him swear never to meditate
again in his life, he decided instead that the unique and
overwhelming experience he had stumbled upon was worth the purpose
of a lifelong soul searching. When the time came to return home,
rebellious in spirit and in defiance of his noble priestly lineage,
he took the reins of his destiny into his own hands, stopping in
India and founding an ashram in Lahore.
Satyabrata hurriedly replaced
Tushar by supporting his nephew. The released guard motioned to his
friend Samirluca to leave the torch and said in a low voice:
«Follow me and keep up. I’m taking you to a safe place. And be
silent, no words». They walked in the darkness through corridors
and internal courtyards, passing through the secluded areas of the
complex that the military knew well. «Those two know their way
around», Satyabrata thought as they crossed a dark and deserted
colonnade that bordered a moonlit garden. Luckily, they didn’t meet
any guards on their way and the nocturnal raid went unnoticed. They
arrived at their destination, on the opposite side of the garrison,
in a dark room. Partially heated on one side, thanks to the
presence of a fireplace, this became their hiding place for the
night. The two soldiers left Isha, Samirluca and Satyabrata with
the recommendation not to leave that room until the following
morning: «Stay here and lock the door. – said Tushar – Remember to
put the key back on the table in the next room when you go out. If
someone were to knock or call from the other side, do not utter a
word, not a sound, no one knows you are here. The chief cook, who
has the second key to the door, will definitely not come tonight.
May luck be with you. Tomorrow morning, to get out of the fort,
you’ll need it». And Aditya, turning to Samirluca said: «When
things have calmed down, remember us. Stay in touch». Samirluca and
his two friends greeted each other with a hug. No other words were
needed. It was Satyabrata who exclaimed «Thank you guys!»,
addressed to the two, who, in perfect synchrony, joined their hands
and bowed their heads to reciprocate the thought. Turning to Isha,
Tushar took his leave with a greeting that was due to a character
of his caliber: «Greetings to you, Isha svāmī, may Prajapati have
you in glory». Aditya, without waiting for the end of his sentence,
grabbed his fellow soldier’s arm, to turn him and drag him towards
the door. The young guru followed the two with his eyes, nodding
his head in thanks. But he still hadn’t fully realized what was
happening and, above all, what was going to happen. The soldiers
slipped out, making sure they weren’t seen, and Samirluca locked
the door behind them.
