When I was about nineteen or twenty, still serving my Guru with the kind of devotion that only youth can carry, a friend invited me to a puja conducted by another teacher.
Out of respect, I asked my Guru if I could attend. He smiled and said, “Go.”
So I went.
The rituals were impressive. The chants were precise, the setup meticulous, the atmosphere charged. I was genuinely awed. When my friend asked if I’d volunteer at their future pujas, I happily agreed.
At that time, my own Guru was in deep personal sadhana for a few months, so my visits to him reduced. Slowly, without realizing it, I began spending more time with this new circle and less with my own teacher.
A few months later, my Guru called. His sadhana was over, and he asked if I could come for his puja that night.
I told him, rather confidently, that I had already promised to help at my friend’s Guru’s event earlier in the evening and would come later.
He laughed softly, the kind of laugh I’d learned meant more than it seemed and said, “Sure.”
That evening turned out to be unforgettable for all the wrong reasons.
During the puja, the other Guru noticed the small rudraksha bracelet on my wrist and said, “That’s not real rudraksha. It has no power.” That bracelet had been given to me by my Guru.
For the first time, doubt crept in.
By the time I reached my Guru’s place later that night, my mind was heavy. I helped with the puja materials, but my heart wasn’t there. My Guru called me close, blessed me, then gently held my wrist.
“Do you think Shakti comes from the material,” he asked, “or from the word of your Guru, my son?”
That was it. I broke down. He knew everything.
He looked at me with so much compassion and said,
“If I had warned you, you’d have thought I was jealous. You had to see this yourself.”
I fell at his feet, ashamed of my doubt. He forgave me, as only a true Guru can.
Months later, I heard that the other group had disbanded. Their teacher’s path had taken a darker turn, and his followers slowly left.
The unsettling part came later. He had performed prāṇa pratiṣṭhā for the Devata Murtis in each of his followers’ homes. After they left him, something strange happened, the faces of those Murtis began to take on his own features.
One by one, they had to remove the idols from their homes.
He was undeniably a man of power but power, when divorced from ethics, turns dark.
The entire episode stayed with me. A reminder etched deep within.
In spiritual life, not everything radiant is real. The truest light is often the quietest one
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Gurubhyo Namaha 🙏
Sangili Karuppasamy Thunai 🙏
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