Poor little cult girl

kw: book reviews, nonfiction, religion, cults, memoirs

Would you give your newborn daughter to this man? A couple did just that nearly thirty years ago. Though they raised their daughter, every detail of their lives was under the control of their Guru, Sri Chinmoy. She was named Jayanti Tamm, and declared to be the Chosen One from birth; she would be the pre-eminent disciple, the perfectly "God-realized" one. Her fate would be to forever sing the praises of Chinmoy, who effectively became her god.

She was his pre-eminent disciple for about fourteen years. At age fifteen, she began to wonder a few things. Though she was treated quite harshly for any infraction, she had had a neurosis of complete submission instilled into her, and could never rebel for long. As Ms Tamm recounts in her memoir Cartwheels in a Sari: A Memoir of Growing up Cult, it took her ten years to overcome the emotional bonds that held her.

She was lucky. Overcoming a deep-seated attachment that is nearly one's entire life is no small matter. In her memoir, she writes with a peculiar double vision. She observed Sri Chinmoy's inner circle her whole life, for many hours each day, even once she started school (the guru didn't like that, but was unwilling to flout truancy laws). She records her feelings, but also speaks of evident hypocrisy the guru displayed. One is her child-view of this god-figure, who claimed to be the unique manifestation of the Supreme; the other is her more mature self looking back. The two blend to indicate that, at some early age, she became aware that not all was right.

By age fifteen, she began to think for herself. She has a formidable intelligence, which could not be satisfied with mindless subservience. Yet the guru's hold on her was complete (I term him "the guru", though she consistently calls him Guru; I cannot bring myself to use that title). She existed to make him happy. When she could subdue her mind (the "poisonous mind" according to Chinmoy), she felt fleeting happiness at his every attention, even a glance. But it could not last. She swung between the guru-world and the "outer world", with wilder and wilder gyrations until she was expelled.

The breaking-away process that occupied her for ten years is covered in about half the book. She goes into shuddering, painful detail. It is all necessary. For those who have never fallen prey to a cult of personality, the power of such a person's hold is nearly inconceivable. A cult leader is, almost by definition, a psychopath. No sane person could so consistently damage and destroy others for his or her own benefit.

Chinmoy is my poster child of Peter Pan gone wrong. He never grew up. He learned very early how to manipulate others to satisfy his every whim, and he lived a life of almost total self-gratification while demanding utmost asceticism of his disciples. He used up disciples like Kleenex. Cross one of many lines, and he'd declare you an ex-disciple. But first he'd try the mix of charm and intimidation that psychopaths do so very well, to bring you into line. Then at a certain point, the phone would ring, and your former life would be over. To all "true disciples" after that, you don't exist. Yet Ms Tamm calls this an unintended mercy. Being suddenly cut off to that extent allowed her to find herself.

There was another mercy. Her father and brother shunned her as instructed, but her mother refused to abandon her, and rather than expel her from her dwelling in cult-sponsored housing, drove out the messenger who came to evict Jayanti, and instead emptied the place of all disciples. Without her mother's help Jayanti may have died. Indeed, she attempted suicide by subway train, but was rescued by a bystander. It was the guru's intention that all ex-disciples die, "punished by their Soul" (which indicates he misunderstands the soul).

Instead, now two years past, the guru has died, though dedicated disciples carry on his purported "work". Within a few years, the Sri Chinmoy phenomenon will either die away, or its leaders will organize into a Yogic denomination and carry on, one more dead body that refuses to rot.

The author is now a professor, is married with a daughter, and is, I sincerely hope, going on with life as a much more normal human.