Answer:

Nani Ma was standing in a white sari outside her hut, a bare concrete block with a tin roof, when I arrived. The villagers who told me about her had described her accurately — a slender British woman in her late 60s who RADIATED calm. For 16 years she had meditated alone in a cave in the Indian Himalayas. Recently she had broken her vow of silence and moved to this hut in UTTARKASHI, in the FOOTHILLS of the mountains. I had hiked four kilometers through a dense forest to meet her.

Six months earlier, in late 2012, I had left my job in New York to learn meditation, first in a Sivananda ashram in southern India, then in a forest ashram in the Uttarkashi district. I grew up in Shimla, also in the Himalayas, and always thought I would return one day to live a silent, contemplative life. My mother’s death from cancer fast-­forwarded the plan 20 years. I wanted a more urgent answer to my questions about the nature of life, suffering and death. But despite practicing six hours of yoga and meditation every day for months, I hadn’t glimpsed the transcendence I read about in the Buddhist and YOGIC scriptures. Now I had a rare chance to ask a saint what more I could do.

Nani Ma’s kind face was marked with bright splotches of red, and she was mostly bald. For a period of years she had subsisted on two bottles of cow’s milk that the villagers left for her every day. Perhaps living on a milk-only DIET irritates your skin and makes you lose your hair. Her good temper was intact, though. She greeted my intrusion with a warm smile, as if she had been expecting me. I bowed and touched her feet. She went inside her hut and got me water in an earthen pot. I was sweating after hiking down steep trails for a few hours and took it gladly. We sat down on a rock in front of her hut next to the Ganges River. Across the river, the mountains rose high above the mist, a colossal tower of green speckled with snow.

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