Cartwheels in a Sari by Jayanti Tamm

and the police were called the next day because the neighbor's house had been pelted by stones in the middle of the night. When my father described the shattered glass that littered the sidewalks, I felt disturbed. Stones were dangerous,and the fact that stones were thrown right across the street from Guru's home, made me scared that Guru could have gotten hurt. I wanted to interrupt my father and ask how we could always protect Guru, but then I remembered that I wasn't supposed to have heard any of what he was saying.
    Shortly afterward, the neighbor's house went up for sale, the church was bought, and Guru created the Guards, a group of close male disciples chosen to serve as personal bodyguards for Guru. This news gave me great relief.
    These guards—the same ones who had ushered Girish from the church—now escorted Guru to and from events, standing on patrol near his throne, preventing anyone from approaching Guru without being personally summoned. To make their duties official, Guru had them wear uniforms— white pants with a Guru-blue stripe down the side, a white shirt, Guru-blue tie, and a numbered badge. They were given a ranking and their badges were a reflection of their order. Guru was a strong believer in rank and order. His insistence on rating people seemed to be a throwback to the traditional caste system of his native India. Many times Guru proudly proclaimed that his own family was Kshatriya, the warrior caste, an esteemed rank, which naturally elevated him over those unfortunate enough to be born into lower castes. By assigning rank and order and creating his own caste system within the Center, Guru fostered a competitive struggle between disciples. Close watch was kept on disciples’ rankings, which provided built-in incentives for those eagerly aspiring to improve their status, and provided Guru with plenty of leverage to demote or promote disciples at his pleasure.
    My father, always in the forefront, was given the rank of guard number three, a position of considerable honor. Ketandecided that when he was old enough, he hoped he, too, could wear the proud uniform and stand on patrol.
    Hours later, Guru finally arrived at the church after having been filled in by the head guard about the evening's events. As Guru entered through his private side door in a green dhoti, he walked with a slight limp, as though the earlier episode had already lodged within him as a physical attack.
    “Though many of you are here, very few are true disciples,” Guru said.
    Tension filled the hall. Disciples from both the men's and women's sides shifted.
    “Dear ones,” Guru said. “True disciples never doubt their guru.”
    Some folded their hands tighter, while others searched for a notebook and pencil to write down every precious word.
    “To make the fastest progress, you need one hundred percent faith in your guru. I am giving you messages from the Highest Supreme,” Guru said with closed eyes. “True disciples do not doubt their guru. Doubt is poison. It leads to the destruction of your spiritual life. Faith, unconditional faith, must be present to be a true disciple. Anyone who doubts is not a real disciple.”
    Not only his words but the energy driving the words seemed tired, as though the disciples’ failures caused a leak inside him. He was lagging, flat, disappointed in a physical manner.
    I wanted to run to the stage and climb his throne, shouting that I was sorry. I would try harder. I should have tackled Girish and made him stop. No one could hurt or doubt Guru. I then thought of my own secret fear of the Guru-bust, and Iswore I would be better and worship it, too. I would make alterations to my spiritual life. I would amend my errors. Then my progress would make Guru happy. I had noticed that Guru was happy when we did what he asked us to do. I'd listen, I promised. I'd do anything.
    After a long meditation and the
prasad,
an item of blessed food distributed by Guru that traditionally followed a