My next unusual experience occurred when I was about sixteen years of age. I was attending a school which was run by the Arya Samaj, a Hindu reform movement founded in the nineteenth century. The school was named after Swami Dayananda, the founder of the organisation. Because it was a residential school, I slept in a hostel with all the other boys.

Every morning we would assemble outside and sit in a semicircle while a prayer was chanted. It always ended with the words ‘Om shanti shanti’ [Om, peace, peace]. At the conclusion of the prayer, a flag would be raised in the school grounds with an ‘Om’ printed on it. As the flag was being raised, we all had to jump up and shout, ‘Victory to the dharma! Victory to Mother India! Victory to Swami Dayananda!’

One morning, at the conclusion of the prayer, the chanting of ‘Om shanti shanti’ caused my whole body to go numb. I became paralysed in much the same way that I had been when, as an eight-year-old boy, I had been offered the mango drink in Lahore. I was aware of every­thing that was going on around me, there was a great feel­ing of peace and happiness inside, but I couldn’t move any of my muscles or respond to what was going on around me. The other boys jumped up and saluted the flag, leav­ing me sitting on the floor in my paralysed state.

The teacher who was supervising the prayers saw me sitting on the floor and just assumed that I was being lazy or disobedient. He put my name on a list for punishment by the headmaster. This meant that I had to appear before him the next morning and be caned. The teacher left the scene without ascertaining the real cause of my immobility. The other boys, meanwhile, started to make fun of me. When they realised that I was not capable of responding to their taunts, they decided to stage a mock funeral. They picked up my body, stretched me out on their shoulders and then pretended that they were carrying me off to the cemetery to be cremated. I had to go along with their game because I was not capable of complaining or resisting. When they had had their fun, they carried me home and dumped me on my bed. I remained there for the rest of the day, paralysed, but absorbed in an inner state of peace and happiness.

he next morning, fully recovered, I reported to the headmaster for my punishment.

He took out his cane, but before he had a chance to use it I asked him, ‘Please sir, what am I supposed to have done? What mistake am I sup­posed to have committed?’ The headmaster had no idea. The teachers had merely given him a list of boys to be caned because the teachers themselves were not allowed to administer corporal punishment. He checked with the teacher who had sent me to him and was told about my act of ‘disobedience’ the day before.

I told him, ‘I didn’t refuse to stand up. I suddenly went numb all over and couldn’t move.’ I told him about the ex­perience, explaining that it had been triggered by hearing the words ‘shanti shanti’ at the end of the morning prayer. This headmaster was a very good man. A supporter of Mahatma Gandhi, he did the job without taking any salary because he believed that Hindu boys should be brought up and educated in a Hindu environment. In those days, most schools were either secular institutions run by the govern­ment or Christian organisations operated by missionaries. Since he was supposed to be inculcating us with Hindu values and ideals, he recognised the absurdity of punish­ing me for having had a mystical experience as a conse­quence of listening to a Hindu prayer. He let me off and in later years we became quite good friends.