Rabi Maharaj

From: Gary Bogart 

Subject: CRI-ARTICLES : Winterburn Testomony: Ex-Occultist (TEXT)





"Death of a Guru: The Personal Testimony of Rabi Maharaj" (an

article from the Christian Research Newsletter, Volume 3: Number 3,

1990) by Rabi Maharaj.

    The editor of the Christian Research Newsletter is Ron

Rhodes.



----------------------------------------------------------------

Copyright 1994 by the Christian Research Institute.

----------------------------------------------------------------

COPYRIGHT/REPRODUCTION LIMITATIONS:

This data file is the sole property of the Christian Research

Institute.  It may not be altered or edited in any way.  It may

be reproduced only in its entirety for circulation as "freeware,"

without charge.  All reproductions of this data file must contain

the copyright notice (i.e., "Copyright 1994 by the Christian

Research Institute").  This data file may not be used without the

permission of the Christian Research Institute for resale or the

enhancement of any other product sold.  This includes all of its

content with the exception of a few brief quotations not to

exceed more than 500 words.



If you desire to reproduce less than 500 words of this data file

for resale or the enhancement of any other product for resale,

please give the following source credit:  Copyright 1994 by the

Christian Research Institute, P.O. Box 500-TC, San Juan

Capistrano, CA 92693.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

-------------



    No matter how fulfilling life becomes, there are always certain

regrets when one looks back. My deepest sense of loss involves my

father. So much has happened since his death. I often wonder what

it would be like to share it all with him, and what his reaction

would be.



    We never shared anything in our lives. Because of vows he had

taken before I was born, not once did he ever speak to me or pay me

the slightest heed. Just two words from him would have made me

unspeakably happy. How I wanted to hear him say, "Rabi. Son." Just

once. But he never did.



    For eight long years he uttered not a word. The trancelike

condition he had achieved is called in the East a state of higher

consciousness and can be attained only through deep meditation.



    "Why is Father that way?" I would ask my mother, still too

young to understand. "He is someone very special -- the greatest

man you could have for a father," she would reply. "He is seeking

the true Self that lies within us all, the One Being, of which

there is no other. And that's what you are too, Rabi."



    Father had set an example, achieved wide acclaim, and earned

the worship of many, and it was inevitable that upon his death his

mantle would fall upon me. I had never imagined, however, that I

would still be so young when this fateful day arrived.



    When father died I felt I had lost everything. Though I had

scarcely known him as my father, he had been my inspiration -- _a

god_ -- and now he was dead.



    At his funeral, my father's stiff body was placed on a great

npile of firewood. The thought of his body being sacrificed to

Agni, the god of fire, added a new dimension of mystery to the

bewilderment and deep sense of loss that already overwhelmed me.



    As the flames engulfed him, it was impossible to suppress the

anguish I felt. "Mommy!" I screamed. "Mommy!" If she heard me above

the roar of sparks and fire, she made no indication. A true Hindu,

she found strength to follow the teaching of Krishna: she would

mourn neither the living nor the dead. Not once did she cry as the

flames consumed my father.



    After my father's funeral, I became a favorite subject for the

palm-readers and astrologers who frequented our house. Our family

would hardly make an important decision without consulting an

astrologer, so it was vital that my future be confirmed in the same

way. It was encouraging to learn that the lines on my palms and the

planets and stars, according to those who interpreted them, all

agreed I would become a great Hindu leader. I was obviously a

chosen vessel, destined for early success in the search for union

with Brahman (the One). The forces that had guided my father were

now guiding me.



    I was only eleven and already many people were bowing before

me, laying gifts of money, cotton cloth, and other treasures at my

feet and hanging garlands of flowers around my neck at religious

ceremonies.



    How I loved religious ceremonies -- especially private ones in

our own home or those of others, where friends and relatives would

crowd in. There I would be the center of attention, admired by all.

I loved to move through the audience, sprinkling holy water on

worshipers or marking foreheads with the sacred white sandalwood

paste. I also loved how the worshipers, after the ceremony, bowed

low before me to leave their offerings at my feet.



    While vacationing at an Aunt's ranch, I had my first real

encounter with Jesus. I was walking along enjoying nature one day

and was startled by a rustling sound in the underbrush behind me.

I turned quickly and, to my horror, saw a large snake coming

directly toward me -- its beady eyes staring intently into mine. I

felt paralyzed, wanting desperately to run but unable to move.



    In that moment of frozen terror, out of the past came my

mother's voice, repeating words I had long forgotten: "Rabi, if

ever you're in real danger and nothing else seems to work, there's

another god you can pray to. His name is Jesus."



    "Jesus! Help me!" I tried to yell, but the desperate cry was

choked and hardly audible.



    To my astonishment, the snake turned around and quickly

wriggled off into the underbrush. Breathless and still trembling,

I was filled with wondering gratitude to this amazing god, Jesus.

Why had my mother not taught me more about him?



    During my third year in high school I experienced an

increasingly deep inner conflict. My growing awareness of God as

the Creator, separate and distinct from the universe He had made,

contradicted the Hindu concept that god was everything, that the

Creator and the Creation were one and the same. If there was only

One Reality, then Brahman was evil as well as good, death as well

as life, hatred as well as love. That made everything meaningless,

life an absurdity. It was not easy to maintain both one's sanity

and the view that good and evil, love and hate, life and death were

One Reality.



    One day a friend of my cousin Shanti, whose name was Molli,

came by to visit. She asked me about whether I found Hinduism

fulfilling. Trying to hide my emptiness, I lied and told her I was

very happy and that my religion was the Truth. She listened

patiently to my pompous and sometimes arrogant pronouncements.

Without arguing, she exposed my emptiness gently with politely

phrased questions.



    She told me that Jesus had brought her close to God. She also

said that God is a God of love and that He desires us to be close

to Him. As appealing as this sounded to me, I stubbornly resisted,

not willing to surrender my Hindu roots.



    Still, I found myself asking, "What makes you so happy? You

must have been doing a lot of meditation."



    "I used to," Molli responded, "but not any more. Jesus has

given me a peace and joy that I never knew before." Then she said,

"Rabi, you don't seem very happy. Are you?"



    I lowered my voice: "I'm not happy. I wish I had your joy." Was

I saying this?



    "My joy is because my sins are forgiven," said Molli. "Peace

and joy come from Christ, through really knowing Him."



    We continued talking for half a day, unaware of how the time

had passed. I wanted her peace and joy, but I was _absolutely

resolved_ that I wasn't going to give up any part of my religion.



    As she was leaving, she said: "Before you go to bed tonight,

Rabi, please get on your knees and ask God to show you the Truth --

and I'll be praying for you." With a wave of her hand she was gone.



    Pride demanded that I reject everything Molli had said, but I

was too desperate to save face any longer. I fell to my knees,

conscious that I was giving in to her request.



    "God, the true God and Creator, please show me the truth!"

Something inside me snapped. For the first time in my life, I felt

I had really prayed and gotten through -- not to some impersonal

Force, but to the true God who loves and cares. Too tired to think

any longer, I crawled into bed and fell asleep almost instantly.



    Soon after, my cousin Krishna invited me to a Christian

meeting. I again surprised myself by responding: "Why not?"



    On our way there, Krishna and I were joined by Ramkair, a new

acquaintance of his. "Do you know anything about this meeting?" I

asked him, anxious to get some advance information.



    "A little," he replied. "I became a Christian recently."



    "Tell me," I said eagerly. "Did Jesus really change your life?"

    Ramkair smiled broadly. "He sure did! Everything is different."



    "It's really true, Rab!" added Krishna enthusiastically. "I've

become a Christian too -- just a few days ago."



    The preacher's sermon was based on Psalm 23, and the words,

"The Lord is my shepherd," made my heart leap. After expounding the

Psalm, the preacher said: "Jesus wants to be your Shepherd. Have

you heard His voice speaking to your heart? Why not open your heart

to Him now? Don't wait until tomorrow -- that may be too late!" The

preacher seemed to be speaking directly to me. I could delay no

longer.



    I quickly knelt in front of him. He smiled and asked if anyone

else wanted to receive Jesus. No one stirred. Then he asked the

Christians to come forward and pray with me. Several did, kneeling

beside me. For years Hindus had bowed before me -- and now I was

kneeling before a Christian.



    Aloud I repeated after him a prayer inviting Jesus into my

heart. When the preacher said, "Amen," he suggested I pray in my

own words. Quietly, choking with emotion, I began: "Lord Jesus,

I've never studied the Bible, but I've heard that you died for my

sins at Calvary so I could be forgiven and reconciled to God.

Please forgive me all my sins. Come into my heart!"



    Before I finished, I knew that Jesus wasn't just another one of

several million gods. He was the God for whom I had hungered. He

Himself was the Creator. Yet, He loved me enough to become a man

and die for my sins. With that realization, tons of darkness seemed

to lift and a brilliant light flooded my soul.



    After arriving home, Krishna and I found the entire family

waiting up for us, apparently having heard what had happened. "I

asked Jesus into my life tonight!" I exclaimed happily, as I looked

from one to another of those startled faces. "It's glorious. I

can't tell you how much he means to me already."



    Some in my family seemed wounded and bewildered; others seemed

happy for me. But before it was all over with, thirteen of us had

ended up giving our hearts to Jesus! It was incredible.



    The following day I walked resolutely into the prayer room with

Krishna. Together we carried everything out into the yard: idols,

Hindu scriptures, and religious paraphernalia. We wanted to rid

ourselves of every tie with the past and with the powers of

darkness that had blinded and enslaved us for so long.



    When everything had been piled on the rubbish heap, we set it

on fire and watched the flames consume our past. The tiny figures

we once feared as gods were turning to ashes. We hugged one another

and offered thanks to the Son of God who had died to set us free.



    I found my thoughts going back to my father's cremation nearly

eight years before. In contrast to our new found joy, that scene

had aroused inconsolable grief. My father's body had been offered

to the very same false gods who now lay in smoldering fragments

before me. It seemed unbelievable that I should be participating

with great joy in the utter destruction of that which represented

all I had once believed in so fanatically.



    In a sense this was my cremation ceremony -- the end of the

person I had once been...the death of a guru. The old Rabi Maharaj

had died in Christ. And out of that grave a new Rabi had risen in

whom Christ was now living.



-------------------------------------------------------------------



(_Editor's Note:_ If you would be interested in a detailed account

of Rabi's conversion, read his book _Death of a Guru._ Rabi is

presently based in Southern California and is involved in

evangelism all over the world. He invites you to write: East/West

Gospel Ministries, P.O. Box 2191, La Habra, CA 90632.)



-------------------------------------------------------------------