Chapter 0. The Source. In this first chapter we meet the Himalayan hermit Babaji, seen through the eyes of Gabriel, an overwhelmed young traveler.
It was spring and a cold, ceaseless rain fell for three days, melting away the remains of the snow that also surrounded the temple and the pool by the hot spring. Throughout the winter, Babaji had, with a pick axe, fought against the might of the elements. Everyone else had taken shelter below, in the villages of the narrow valley. But not Babaji. In solitude, he had watched the slow spirals of the falling snow and his mind settle.
As the silent winter months stretched into an eternity, his thoughts crumbled and finally vanished. Barefooted and dressed in a loincloth, like a single letter left on a white page, patiently chipping at the slowly advancing ice to keep it from covering the temple of Shiva, he arrived at absolute emptiness. A tiny wagtail—which on the coldest day of the winter had landed at his side and sent him a scrutinizing look—was his final guru. When spring approached, the first people to emerge, timidly appeared at the edge of the steep forest below the meadow. They found him still alive, his eyes filled with wonder, and despite having no words to describe what he now knew, his tiny one-room cabin was suspended in the light of the knowledge which brought people to him. Now, in several places, the rain trickled through the slate roof. Under the drip, they had placed pots and bowls which were emptied out through the wonky, plank door. Each time it was opened, the grey light fell for a moment, into the small dark room, and you could catch a view of the impenetrable clouds outside. The smoke from the holy fire filled the space below the naked timber beams that held the roof. A fragrant, dry scent of burning dhoop roots joined the smoke. The roots were collected during the brief summer on the high slopes by the lake —the source of the river Parvati. The light shafts that found their way through the gaps between the planks of the door dissected the unhurried weightless whirling smoke with random precision. A beautiful illumination of the delicate and eternal nature of changeability and decay, thought Gabriel.