Days with Swami Sivananda

The Story of Plain boiled rice

Rice had never been a favorite with me, perhaps because except for rice pudding it is unknown in the cuisine of the American Midwest. After a short while in India I had come to really dislike it. Nothing repulsed me more than plain boiled rice. The very smell of boiled Indian rice nauseated me. This was no small problem, because in Northern India rice comprises most of the diet. Poor people often have nothing but rice with a little salt, date sugar, or yogurt sprinkled on it.

One morning Swami Sivananda spoke to a visitor and asked him: “Will you have lunch with me tomorrow?” “Yes, Swamiji,” eagerly replied the fortunate man. “Just plain boiled rice. That’s all.” “Yes, Swamiji.”

My detestation of plain boiled rice in no way diminished my envy of that blessed man. I assumed that Sivananda was not well and that his diet was restricted to the horrid stuff. But who would care? I would eat dirt to spend time in his presence.

A second person was invited, and again the litany about plain boiled rice was repeated.

The third person who was invited said: “No, no! The doctor said that I can’t eat rice.” I was flabbergasted. Would someone really refuse the invitation of such a great soul for such a flimsy reason? Why not eat the (ugh) stuff, enjoy the Master’s company, and then get sick later at leisure?

In a moment my astonishment was replaced by even greater wonder as Sivananda looked at me and asked: “Gopaldas, will you have lunch with me tomorrow?” I said, “Oh, yes, Swamiji!” “Nothing but boiled rice, plain boiled rice. Is that all right with you?” “Oh, yes!” “Are you sure?” “Yes! Yes!” “You don’t mind plain boiled rice?” I said, “Oh, no! I will be very glad to eat it.” “All right. At eleven thirty. Be there; don’t be late” I could not believe it–I had been invited, too. Next to japa, my anticipation filled my thoughts for the rest of the day and the early morning hours of the next.

I was on time for the plain boiled rice, I can assure you. But the plain boiled rice turned out to be the most elaborate meal I have ever eaten. There were at least sixty different dishes! I never saw such an elaborate meal. Cautioning me to only take a little, since I must be sure to eat some of everything, Sivananda supervised my eating. “Just plain boiled rice,” he commented meaningfully, and I knew that he knew.