Dadaji Dhuniwala
About forty to fifty years ago, there were two great saints and spiritual giants who completely dominated the Indian scene. There were other figures who later became known as a result of later propaganda but were little known in their own lifetimes. The two great figures of whom we speak saw a rise that was spontaneous and not induced by publicity. They both stood supreme as towering figures and were popular to a degree that no one else could approach.
As a warning to all, their very acceptance by the Hindu community was a clear and indisputable indication that this was a land beyond any fixed patterns. This forms such a contrast with the more backward Western world, where holy men of the Christian communities not only appear as if they were all dressed by the same tailor, stamped out by the same machine in a factory, but even speak like echoes coming from each other’s throats.
In India, the contrast is so pronounced, and sadhus, or holy men, dress or undress to produce countless unique characters, that it is rare to see a counterpart. They speak, behave, and teach with such differences and variety, and present all and everything.
“In India, the contrast is so pronounced, and sadhus, or holy men, dress or undress to produce countless unique characters, that it is rare to see a counterpart.”
The unwary must be very selective if they wish to make a choice. Between the two spiritual giants presented here, there was such a wide gulf and contrast that no outside observer could possibly imagine they belong to the same religion. Nor would it be supposed that devotees who sought the feet of one were equally happy to seek the feet of the other.
One of these great figures was a saint who lived at Hubli in Mysore State. Externally and internally, he was as conventional as convention could command. In dress and appearance, he was clean, tidy, and decorous, while his teachings conformed only to true orthodox Hinduism of scriptural origin. In this, he was regarded as the greatest living spokesman. He could quote vast passages of scripture from memory, though many of the deeper gems eluded him.
Sometimes, when asked a question, he would take half an hour to reply. In this way, he filled the time between sunrise and sunset. Disciples, many of them women, sat at his feet all day. Beating disciples on the head with a stick was not part of his tactics, and he never imagined long speeches could be just as painful. Talk, explanation, exposition, and the word of authority to silence opposition lasted from morning to night.
This saint, erudite to the last degree, spoke many Indian dialects and Sanskrit as if they were his mother tongue. Today, the saint and his name are forgotten.
North of Hubli, and almost at the dead center of India, on the bank of the great Narmada River, thirteen miles from Jabalpur, a very different spiritual drama was being enacted. Here lived a saint, originally a sannyasin of the very conventional Dashanami Order, named Keshwaranand, who renounced and managed to disentangle himself, even from renunciation.
Once there was the delusion that I had
Renounced the world, as much as I could see;
Now I have renounced renunciation,
For now, I know I always have been free.
He lived naked as the day he was born, one with his environment and in harmony with the Absolute. His original sadhu name became almost forgotten, and he became known as Dadaji Dhuniwala (popularly known as Dhuniwale Dadaji)—the Patriarch Who Kept the Dhuni.
The dhuni is the sacred fire of non-Vedic origin, usually circular (yoni) in shape and tended by sadhus in their place of residence. Generally, it would be about ten to twelve inches in diameter, but Dhuniwala maintained one large enough to consume a blanket.
The dhuni should not be confused with the Vedic agnihotra of the Brahmins. The agnihotra is always square, while the dhuni is round. Whereas time is essential to the agnihotra, and oil is constantly added to keep the flame alive, the fuel in the dhuni (either wood or cow dung) only smolders. There is a little smoke but no flame.
Dhuni, in fact, comes from a Sanskrit word meaning “smoke.” The agnihotra was only lit for periods of rituals, ceremonies, or sacrifices and only by members of the Brahmin caste. Once lit, the dhuni fire was left to smolder and burn for extended periods and could be lit or tended by anyone.
“Dhuni, in fact, comes from a Sanskrit word meaning ‘smoke.’ … Once lit, the dhuni fire was left to smolder and burn for extended periods and could be lit or tended by anyone.”
The original dhuni lit by Dhuniwala at Khandwa has never been extinguished since his death. Dhunis have burned in India for thousands of years before the Aryans came, and to the non-Vedic or Tantric people, they were held as sacred, though these people did not worship fire or have a fire deity. Their dhunis were kept burning at all places sacred to Shiva and his Goddess. Even today, there are places in India where one will find bhasmagiris, or “hills of bhasma,” vast mounds that analysis has proved to be the pure ash of burnt wood. Fires must have burned for hundreds and even thousands of years to produce bhasmagiris of such tremendous size.
One of them is located only a stone’s throw from the spot where grew the Audumbar Tree, under which Shri Bhagavan Dattatreya attained his enlightenment—an event similar to the story of the Buddha but one that took place about two thousand years earlier.
This sacred fire at Gangapur has long burned cold, but thousands of people still visit the spot to venerate Dattatreya and carry away some sacred ashes. If the tradition of ashes is so ancient and enduring, there must always be a place in our hearts for the man who spent most of his lifetime making them. Dhuniwala’s world was not one of “love one another.” He held most people in contempt. Nobody loved him, and he returned no love. He was mostly feared and respected, in the same way men fear and respect God.
Sometimes, his visitors became angry, as did a wealthy merchant who made the difficult journey to present him with a costly embroidered shawl, hoping Dadaji would sleep in it. Instead, Dadaji took the shawl and threw it into the fire. The man grew angry at such wanton waste and expressed his feelings. Dadaji took a handful of ashes from the fire and handed them to the man, saying, “Here, take your shawl back.”
“Dadaji took a handful of ashes from the fire and handed them to the man, saying, ‘Here, take your shawl back.’”
Dhuniwala neither preached, quoted, nor betrayed any hint that he had ever read any scriptures. He only tried to teach the simple truth that all men and women were free and immortal if they could overcome their ignorance and delusions, for this was the bondage that kept them from liberation. His life demonstrated, though not always by “respectable” standards, that the mind and body had to be free of their conditioning and concepts before there could be true moksha.
Yet, it was not wisdom that made Dhuniwala popular. Wisdom seldom has a great following, and wisdom alone generally leaves a saint unwanted by the world. Though never sought by him, he gained a widespread reputation for good luck, the delusion that wears many disguises and manifests itself at the weirdest levels. Though he himself did not perform miracles, his ashirvad, or blessings, could cause miracles to occur.
“He only tried to teach the simple truth that all men and women were free and immortal if they could overcome their ignorance and delusions, for this was the bondage that kept them from liberation.”
Thus, people came to him to secure his grace, which would give them success at law, prop up a tottering business, bring harmony into a discordant marriage, and fill with gold those empty pockets that are only lined with space. People did not tell him their troubles or express their hopes. Dhuniwala was not interested in either. Once they had his blessing, the rest was automatic. In a country that has always been overcrowded with people, there have always been numerous couples desiring offspring and male progeny in families overcrowded with females. People would go to Dadaji, secure permission, and perform the lingam puja (worship).
This custom, as old as the hills and still far from extinct, requires the couple to wash the saint’s penis with water, milk, curds, honey, sugar, and other substances, and to anoint it with sacred substances, such as kumkum, sandalwood, sindoor, and other powders generally used in worship. The act is also accompanied by burning lights and incense, as well as appropriate prayers and scriptural texts. The custom still seems to be confined to naked saints. In the mysterious ways of the Absolute, most couples see their wish fulfilled. Modesty and shame had no place with Dadaji.
A sadhu who had not yet found his guru had wandered extensively in India to find one. The young man had very fixed ideas of what his guru must look like and the pattern he would need to conform to. When he did find his guru—Dadaji—all these concepts crumbled to dust. Dadaji was the opposite of all the ideas and ideals that had formed in his mind.
When he arrived at Dadaji’s riverside tree, he saw him like a modern Diogenes of Sinope, masturbating in the presence of several people. At first shocked, even disgusted, something compelled him to remain. He became one of Dadaji’s three naked sadhu disciples. Dhuniwala had thousands of disciples and devotees, but only three went so far as to follow his way of life.
The first of these was a unique character who defied all conventions in more ways than one. Born into the Muslim community, where nudity was distasteful, he ran away at an early age and traveled among the Hindu places of pilgrimage. When he stumbled upon the sacred but unconventional residence of Dhuniwala, he knew he had found his master. He threw the clothes he had been wearing into the dhuni and served the guru as his first naked disciple.
Nobody ever knew or learned his real name, and he was probably never asked. With the typical spontaneity of Indian life, people began to call him Chhota Dadaji, or Little Dadaji, and this became the only name by which he was ever known. Though of above-normal height, he looked like a naked boy who had never grown up, and he himself seemed to enjoy the blissful happiness of childhood.
Some doctors visiting the scene suggested that Chhota was, in fact, an example of one of those people whose gonads did not descend at puberty and thus never developed into full manhood. Though nature had been generous to Dadaji, Chhota never outgrew the mini-sized lingam of boyhood.
A waggish yogi composed a verse to express this, which ran:
Dadaji’s lingam often rises,
God endowed the best of sizes.
A lingam never seen erect,
But Dadaji’s takes all the prizes!
Chhota was neither fool nor idiot in his fundamental nature. When once asked if he felt no shame about appearing naked in the presence of so many women, he replied, “If I did, I would be ashamed of God and what he had seen fit to create.” Is this not a record of striking contrasts?
“If I did, I would be ashamed of God and what he had seen fit to create.”
Dadaji was the greatest. He was as different from his contemporary at Hubli as a tiger is from a jackal. As the Hubli saint grew rich, Dhuniwala grew poorer. One lived in a nice ashram, but Dadaji had only a tree. One sought fame and the other obscurity. One was polite and warmly welcomed visitors, while Dadaji insulted them or struck them with a stick. While offerings were piling up at Hubli, like treasure, Dhuniwala was throwing them in the fire. When the Hubli throng sprang to life at the visit of some VIP, Dhuniwala would fall asleep.
Another disciple had traveled India and visited Hubli. In the ashram, he had sat and listened to a wonderful lecture on “celibacy.” When he returned to the Narmada site, he saw Dhuniwala playing with his penis while another naked sadhu was rubbing his feet and legs. Once he had gained Dadaji’s attention, he told him about the lecture and its subject. “What was it called?” asked Dadaji. “Celibacy,” was the reply. Dadaji smiled and suggested, “Probably some new medicine, but we don’t have any here.”
“Dadaji was the greatest. He was as different from his contemporary at Hubli as a tiger is from a jackal.”
Dhuniwala’s place near Jabalpur was not easy to reach. Dadaji lived there for that very reason. There were difficulties in building a residence, as the Narmada claims a human sacrifice or two when she is in flood, and the land was not available for purchase anyway. As a compromise, the wealthier disciples purchased a piece of land at Khandwa, which was also a convenient rail junction. Buildings were constructed, and a huge dhuni was built.
Dhuniwala might change his residence, but he would not change his customs. In some mysterious way, he was induced to move to the new quarters, but, although he took up residence there, he always longed for the simple riverside retreat. However, the signs of old age were approaching, and Dadaji settled down to silently endure.
His mahasamadhi (tomb) and those of his three naked disciples are all at Khandwa and are still visited by thousands of devotees who seek his spiritual grace and the material prosperity it might bring. Although there is no longer the lingam available for worship, huge painted banners show Dhuniwala in all his naked glory and tell their own story of great things that were.
Where freedom once freely flowed, trustees now tread, and the naked flame has been replaced by a well-dressed management. The new masters have made a rule and prohibit naked sadhus from entering the ashram. A good business cannot tolerate any potential competition. There is also the danger that a naked sadhu might be invited to live there to continue the old tradition, and the rule of the trustees might end.
Dhuniwala maintained his independence to the very last. Having avoided doctors, he enjoyed good health, but when the final moments came, and death was clearly near, the disciples wanted to bring a doctor. But Dadaji only responded, “Don’t bother him. I can die without his help,” and he did.
“Don’t bother him. I can die without his help.”
Most dropouts are considered as being nonproductive. Dhuniwala was different, and he spent most of his life producing ashes, not only from the material things that most people treasure, but also from the very ideas and delusions they cherished.
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