The Hindu Business Line : Sylvan and soulful

Nothing in my experience had prepared me for meeting a Hindu Inspector of Police in London — no, I don't mean a turbaned Sikh or an Indian but a white Anglo Saxon Hindu. He went on to teach me a thing, or two, about spirituality, which were reinforced by my three-day stay in the Shangri La in the south of England that is the Krishnamurti Centre at Brockwood Park.

During the self-introductions session in the three-day workshop on creative problem solving, which was the main excuse for my visiting the UK this summer, one of the participants identified himself as a Detective Inspector of the Military Police, and added most casually and without any outward sign of embarrassment, "and I am almost a Hindu". This was from a man who had the measured and cultivated tones you would expect from an Inspector Morse saying "and anything you say may be taken down and used as evidence against you in court". So we asked him half-jokingly if it meant he was a vegetarian or had been adopted by a guru, the usual manifestation of such a tendency in the West. His reply was precise as it was profound. He had adopted the spiritual philosophy of Hinduism, as it was the only school of thought entirely in consonance with the latest notions in modern physics and cosmology. The Gita and the Upanishads represented the purest form of a scientifically tenable explanation for the Universe, in that it rested on the conception of a universal ground on which all creation stood, and also acknowledged the oneness of all consciousness. Withoutreligious conversion, he had found much peace in occasionally visiting the Hindu temple in London only to sit and meditate. His was not of an exhibitionistic nature so you could never see him dancing down Oxford Street with a shaven head and dressed in a dhoti, singing Hare Krishna.

Inspector Mark was introduced to Hindu philosophy while working on court cases when sacred books including the Bible and the Quran were used for taking the oath. He took them home to read out of curiosity and was captivated by the Gita, which spoke to him as no other religious text did. He then turned to the Upanishads and became a spiritual adherent with no more fuss or fanfare. It helped him focus on the sense of duty, which he felt was relevant in today's world in every walk of life and he hoped to inculcate it in his juniors on the Force. He summed it up thus: We have to do the right thing under all circumstanceswithout bothering or getting attached to the outcome.

The day after this startling revelation, we were talking of workplace dilemmas in choosing between two equally tough options. "Well, it's rather like Arjuna on the battlefield isn't it?" said my policeman friend. "You just have to do what is right at that time and in that situation, even if it meant fighting and killing one's own cousins. Duty is all you have a right to." As he went on further to paraphrase Krishna's words, one was left speechless. I was reminded of respecting serendipity, as the author John Redfield says in his Celestine Prophecy, because of the huge odds against a person like him coming into my tutor group at the workshop. At the same workshop, one offered an enthusiastically attended elective session on yoga and an hour on workplace relationships, based on the teachings of the philosopher J. Krishnamurti. Contrary to what one might believe, even in an educated audience the name of Krishnaji is almost unknown. Yet the profound teachings on the limits of thought, of time and of the roots of conflict in relationship, which arise from our tendency to form images about ourselves and others, seemed to touch a deep chord in the sensitive and mature members of the audience.

Krishnamurti, or K as he was often referred to, has established a haven of peace, a non-denominational, unique retreat centre alongside the Brockwood Park School in the deep, wooded Hampshire countryside. These days no visit to England is complete for me without a brief stopover at the marvellous centre so lovingly designed and executed by the world-famous expert on Islamic architecture, Keith Critchlow, who by a strange coincidence was also to later build the hospital complex at Puttaparthy.

Inaugurated in 1986, the building is made of locally available stone and wood of the finest quality and has a central meeting area, rather like a large drawing room with tastefully arranged furniture, but with the sanctity and feel of a chapel. It has vaulting beams and wooden pillars and is headed at one end by a real fireplace with logs of wood. The sitting area leads on to a dining hall and all round it are full length doors and windows that afford an unobstructed view of rolling green pasture.

Real pastureland surrounds the building and the adjoining school — with ewe lambs jumping about, and on your walks you are often surprised by a squirrel, a rabbit or the occasional peacock. The grounds are full of centuries-old trees, oak, ash, sycamore, cypress and the special copper beeches that turn a gleaming purple in brilliant sunshine. Under a high blue sky, which you get at times on a crisp winter day or in midsummer, Brockwood for me is the nearest to a totally unspoilt spot on earth, with very little that is artificial or jarring.

But it is not a holiday home, a picnic spot, a weekend R&R joint, or a venue for corporate away days, much less a low-cost tourist accommodation for sightseeing. However, when you hear some of the rules of the place you would realise why it is unlikely to be of appeal to all but the really serious.

The sparsely but aesthetically furnished single rooms are functional with attached baths but there is nowhere a TV, radio or telephone in sight. No e-mails, just one copy of the Herald Tribune in the sitting area, and one is not encouraged to bring one's office work here. On the other hand, there are no idols for worship, no incense and no ritual programmes or satsang for the devout. It is merely a place to get away from the problems of one's work and life, to be quiet, to relax and reflect, and allow the mind as well as the body to slow down. (K established such retreats or study centres in many places, especially meant to attract those interested in exploring into what he said. The one in Chennai is at the headquarters of the Indian foundation, at Vasanta Vihar on Greenways Road, in equally sylvan surroundings.)

The Brockwood cuisine is simple, vegetarian of various styles, and lightly cooked, and the accent is on organically grown food, fresh fruit, soups and salads. During the day you might choose to read a book from the well stocked library of Krishnamurti's talks, writings and dialogues — or watch a video, listen to a tape; or read a book of some other school of philosophy or religion, as the Bible or the Quran. The teachings of Ramana Maharshi and the Buddha too find their place on the shelves. Or you might simply choose to go for a long walk in the marvellous countryside, amidst the overpoweringly lush environs, or just soak up the limitless quiet. Here indeed, as one sits in the enclosed grove, which has age-old redwood trees, is the peace that passeth the understanding. All kinds of people come here with the majority being obviously Westerners but there is an even spread across gender, cultures, continents and professions. You might be sitting at lunch with an English lady who had worked closely with K and is a professional writer or have supper in the company of a Mexican musician or Ghanian lawyer settled in London.

This is the shared home away from home for all of them, with a difference. One does not come here to be preached at or converted, do yoga or meditate, however laudable or therapeutic it may be. Here one comes, I suppose, to find one's centre, and discover in the end, others in oneself.

(concluded)

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