(by William Thomas):
Thirty years ago, by the strangest of chances, I met Wijayaharan Aiya—a senior disciple of Sri Amritananda Natha Saraswati, or Guruji—on a business matter in upstate New York. It was 1988. Haran said he taught yoga and maintained a small Hindu temple in his converted garage at 33 Park Circle in Henrietta, New York, just outside Rochester. He invited me to come and see it, so I did. And I was blown away—not just by the temple itself, but by the intensity of Haran’s devotion to the Mother Goddess.
I began visiting the temple on a regular basis, and Haran treated me like a member of his own family. We had spiritual discussions, performed pujas, and before long he gave me a simple mantra to practice. One day a few months later he said, “My guru is coming from India. You have to meet him.” I was already so impressed with Haran and his teachings—I remember thinking, what would it be like to meet his teacher?!
Suffice it to say, I wasn’t disappointed. I remember entering Haran’s living room, and there, sitting in an easy chair, was a middle-aged Indian man with a big salt-and-pepper beard, wearing a white dress shirt and a dhoti. I sat at his feet. When my eyes met his, I felt a thrill, a warmth surge through my body. I melted into those eyes. I sensed such pure compassion—such unconditional love—emanating from this gentle, soft-spoken man.
I remember thinking, “This must be what it would have been like to meet Christ.” He asked me how I’d come to be there, and after I told him my story he smiled sweetly and said, “Good.” I told him I was planning a trip to India to see Sai Baba. He said, “Yes, you should.” Then he added, “You are welcome to stay with me and my family while you’re in India.” I was, of course, thrilled to accept his offer.
When I first arrived at Devipuram in November 1989, Guruji was keen to put my video camera to use—it was a rare commodity in India in those days. I recorded videos of daily life at Devipuram. I filmed Guruji performing a Tantric Śakti Pūjā.
As a person, he amazed me. He had a depth that I had never felt from another human being in my entire life. As a teacher, he was highly intelligent and ethical, but without any whiff of superiority—only humility. He treated everyone with kindness and respect. He was always open to new ideas, and he listened to everyone, asking our opinions and treating us all equally. He felt that the Goddess spoke through and guided us all.
Once, he took me on a trip to the area around Devipuram—from the beautiful Araku Valley, to the massive Borra Caves, to mountains in the jungle. At one point we stopped by a large, rushing stream, and Guruji said to one of the temple volunteers, “Please bring me a yantra.” When it was handed to him, Guruji placed it beneath the water and said, “There. Someday someone will find this and build a temple here.”
On the way back to Devipuram, we stopped in the town of Anakapalle to meet his guru—Swami Svaprakāśānanda Tīrtha Haṃsa Avadhūta, or simply Gurugaru. He was like a magic elf from a fairy tale, wraith-thin with an orange tone to his skin. Guruji and Amma kept telling me, “Whatever you do, don’t ask him for anything.” (I later found out that asking Gurugaru for things could go terribly wrong.) Luckily, I followed their advice.
The visit flew by, and when it was time to leave, Guruji said, “I have a gift for you.” And he handed me his own Shiva lingam from his puja room. He said, “This is for you. You are my son now. You may not be my blood relative, but you are my spiritual son.” I was overwhelmed. I’d never met people who showed me so much kindness in such a short amount of time.
Guruji was an amazing spiritual teacher and adept—a unique joining of disciplined scientific genius and a deeply spiritual mindset. He could come down to anyone’s level and communicate clearly. He could describe advanced spiritual concepts and expound on them with pure physics. He could give you an answer on any subject, if he wanted to. He would just close his eyes for a bit, and then come out with a detailed reply. I once heard him talk shop with an aviation engineer, though he knew nothing about building airplanes. Goddess Saraswati gave him the information, he told me later.
At all times, he projected an unmistakable aura of peace and contentment. All you had to do was be in the same room with him and you, too, felt happy, calm and blissful. I remember wanting to ask him so many questions or tell him all about my problems—but when I’d actually get near him, I’d forget or not care anymore; all my stress was gone, and I was happy. The best part was when I did namaskāram—prostrated and touched his feet—that was magical. You could get high from the energy he emanated. It lasted for hours.
But the best thing about Guruji was that he was always approachable, like a loving father and—I have to say—a loving mother, too. For he was, I believe, a living incarnation of the Devi, always guiding his children with love and attention. I was lucky to be tutored by Guruji in Tantric philosophy and practice. On my third trip to India, I came with a close female friend. Guruji took us to the Kāmākhya Pīṭha and guided us through a private Tantric puja. My friend and I sat on his knees as he gave us both the Mahāṣōḍaśī Mantra.693 It was like a dream, like being in another world, surrounded by nonjudgment and unconditional love.
The Sri Vidya teachings of Guruji were, in my opinion, of the highest caliber. He could translate the most esoteric concepts into layperson’s language. But the main thing he taught us was to follow our own intuition, that soft voice coming from within. “Always follow your heart,” he would say. “When Devi is guiding you, you can never go wrong.”
In essence, he was telling us to follow our inner guru and not be dependent upon anyone or anything outside ourselves—which ultimately meant being independent of him as a guru as well. In that sense, his legacy was one of radical freedom. He encouraged all of us to practice and teach in our own way, in our own style—to allow our inner Goddess (or Guru) to guide us along our personal path. In my estimation there will never be another guru like him again.
That is, until he returns.
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