I wanted to get away from all distractions and focus all my energy on self-realization. So, one fine morning, I left home. I had no money in my pocket. My only belongings were the clothes I was wearing—a cotton shirt, trousers, and a pair of sandals. I quietly sneaked out and went to an old temple of Lord Shiva, near the river in my village, as the chosen spot to begin my holy journey.

When I arrived at the temple, I was delighted to see a group of aghori babas resting at the temple. I hadn’t seen aghori babas hang around at the temple before, and I took it as a sign of approval of my decision from the Almighty. All day I hung around this group and I noticed that an elderly person was their group leader, and everyone else took directions from him.

By late afternoon, the leader called me to him. Despite his fiery appearance—locks of hair and blood-orange robes—when he spoke, I was surprised by the affectionate voice concealed behind his gruff exterior. When I went closer to him, without asking anything, he said, “Dear son, go back home.”

His voice had enormous confidence and regret. I looked into his eyes, and they were drowned in sorrow. He said, “I have been an ascetic for fifty years and I cheated myself. I have not achieved anything spiritually; now I am a beggar roaming the streets from one temple to another. Even if I wanted to, I could not go back home now. Everyone at home has forgotten me. And suppose I did go back, for all these years of asceticism, I have nothing to show for it.”

I listened to him quietly. He paused for a minute and looked out toward the river. Then gathering himself, he said, “Son, I can see your search is genuine. Go back home and serve your parents. This is not the way for you.”