An impartial account of J. Krishnamurti's life.
Star in the East
Krishnamurti--The Invention of a MessiahBy Roland VernonSentient Publications
Copyright © 2002 Roland Vernon
All right reserved.ISBN: 9780971078680
Chapter One
The Boy on the Beach
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Headquarters of the Theosophical Society, Adyar, near Madras, South India.
Newcomers to the Theosophical Society in 1909 could not fail to bestruck by the sheer magnitude of Charles Webster Leadbeater. In everysense he was larger than life. Massively built, he oozed strength andvitality, even in his mid-fifties, with a chest broad as an English oak, amuscular, unbroken slope between his forehead and nose, a thick silverbeard and powerful shoulders. The loose pyjama-bottoms and whitemuslin shirts he preferred to wear in the hot climate were somewhatincongruous on so stately an Englishman, whose frame seemed bettersuited to frock coats, embroidered waistcoats, spats and goldenwatch-chains. But it was his presence, more than his physique, that tended todwarf all who came near him. Unpredictable, like a fairy-tale ogre, attimes benign, at others fearsome, he possessed the sort of personalitythat refused to be ignored. When he entered a room all heads turned,when he opened his mouth to speak all other voices were hushed. Helaid claim to vast knowledge, spanning both the sub-atomic and theinfinite, the etheric and spirit world, the far reaches of history and theunveiled mysteries of the future. His ideas were monstrous, his ambitionsuncontainable, and his assuredness incontestable. He was a fortress ofconviction. Brave was the man who contradicted such a colossus.
The newcomer would also have been aware of Leadbeater's bizarrehistory, his long-standing prominence within the Theosophical Society,and the recent turn of events that had cast a sinister shadow on hisreputation. After the rumoured adventures of his youth, Leadbeater hadbecome an Anglican clergyman before abandoning Christianity for themore exotic spiritual quest of Theosophy, with its alluring motto, `Thereis no religion higher than Truth.' He had worked alongside MadameBlavatsky herself, the legendary mystic, traveller and clairvoyant whofounded the Theosophical Society, and it was with her that he had firsttravelled to India, back in 1884. This had led to what he claimed was aclairvoyant awakening of his own, since which time he had dedicatedhis life to shaping the Society's philosophy through his many books,articles and lecture tours. Thanks largely to his energy and conviction,Theosophy had by now established itself as one of the most excitingand influential religious alternatives of the western world.
A recent scandal had threatened to scupper the entire project.Leadbeater had been accused of indecent behaviour towards a series ofadolescent boys. Some of the charges were substantiated, but not tosuch a degree as to fell this towering pioneer. Enemies he had many,but he gave them little consideration, and their weapons glanced off hishide like paper darts. In his own little world, at Adyar, in South India,he ruled like a moghul. Although not Theosophy's nominal leader, hehad the Society president's complete confidence, and his every utterancewas treated as infallible. To the newcomer he was every inch the wisepatriarch. Despite his faults, it was impossible not to be impressed byso commanding and vigorous a personality.
Embedded within the luxuriant gardens of the Theosophical Societyestate, right at the river's edge, lay Leadbeater's private residence knownas the Octagon Bungalow, an elegant little structure with a white stuccoexterior and a covered verandah on all eight sides of its circumference.Here he would retire with hand-picked helpers to work on his variousesoteric and literary projects, sometimes deep into the night, until hiscolleagues (though rarely he himself) could barely hold up their headsor push their pens. He did allow a break in the day's labours, for a swim,at about five o'clock in the afternoon, when the trees and shrubs hadbegun to cast long shadows over the garden's terracotta paths, and theair at Adyar was thick with the sound of crickets. Bounding barefootout of his quarters, towel in hand, he would lead a small masculine teamat the double along the river path that went down towards the coconutplantation and out to the beach. As his secretaries and assistants scamperedto keep up with him, he would stride past the groups of admirerswho often hung around the Octagon Bungalow at this time of day,hoping to ingratiate themselves. Famously misogynous, he was particularlydismissive of elderly European ladies, of whom there were a numberat Adyar, frequently to be seen cross-legged under a banyan tree, frailand uncomfortable, earnestly attempting to meditate or raise themselvesto higher spiritual planes.
On one particular hot evening, in the spring of 1909, Leadbeater wassitting in his bungalow with a bright and ascetic-looking young Englishmancalled Ernest Wood. They had been working continuously sinceearly morning, with Wood acting as the older man's amanuensis, spurringon Leadbeater's occult imagination with incisive questions, and recordingthe results on paper. Wood was expected at some stage to compile andformulate their jumbled reams of notes into a book, a daunting editorialtask that he somewhat dreaded. They paused from their toils at five, asusual, for the late afternoon swim, and proceeded, with a few others,down to the Adyar sea-shore, a broad, pale length of beach that stretchedfor miles in both directions, south towards the flat expanse of theCoromandel Coast, north to the city of Madras, and faced out eastwardsinto the Bay of Bengal. They stripped quickly and raced down to thesurf, plunging straight in and splashing each other with shouts of laughter.
Near to the water's edge a group of Indian youths gathered to watchthe curiosity of naked Europeans cavorting. Separate from the others,two young boys squatted in the sand, one of them, the smaller of thetwo, smiling as he tried to catch the attention of the Theosophists. Hishair was shaved at the front, up to the crown of the head, but grownlong at the back, and worn in a pigtail, in the traditional style of Brahminboys. Behind him sat the other boy, taller and thinner, who seemed hardly,aware of his companion's excitement, but turned away in a daydream, hismouth hanging open in a moronic expression. They were both very, thin,with their shoulders and ribs clearly visible through the skin, frommonths, perhaps years, of nourishment and unresolved ill-health.They hardly noticed the flies that gathered at the moist cornersof their eyes, or the mosquitos that feasted on their swollen ankles.
Ernest Wood and one of his companions recognised the boys, andwaved back at the younger, beckoning him to join them. This was allthe encouragement he needed, and he took off like an unleashed puppydown to the sea. The other child, his elder brother, did not even noticethat he had been left alone, his large dark eyes staring into the distance,absorbed and yet apparently sightless.
While Wood and his companions pulled the younger boy into thewater, encouraging him in English and broken Hindi, neither of whichhe appeared to understand, Charles Leadbeater turned his attention to theother boy. He had always been drawn to children of this age, fascinated bytheir standing on the threshold of maturity. It was a crucial stage of life,Leadbeater...
