We were shooting a television feature on Maheshwari saris when I met Sadhu Gyananand. He was sitting on the edge of one of the stone ghats that lined the bank of Narmada.

The river was extremely wide, its aqua green waters, slightly rippled, appeared calm and pensive, juxtaposed on which was the saffron-robed figure of Gyananand. He was a sadhu, a wandering ascetic searching for truth.

Gyananand made a wonderful profile. His unkempt beard, matted locks fluttered as he paid obeisance to the river considered by many in India holier than even the holiest River Ganga. Feeble sounds of the temple bells and the voices singing the glory of the River filled the air.

Not far off in one of the temples, widows in white engaged in gossip. They have come here, at the fag end of their lives, to wait for death to transport them to the other world. Death by the River Narmada is considered to be the ultimate salvation. But quite interestingly, women outnumber men.

Also prominent on the ghat are stone memorials of women who committed sati, a sad reminder of the past. Another flight of steps leads to Kaleshwar, Rajarajeshwar, Vithaleshwar and Ahileshwar temples.

Flanking the ghat, on a high mound is Maheshwar Fort. Situated about 90 km from Indore in Madhya Pradesh, it was the capital of the Holkar Kingdom during the reign of Queen Ahilyabai (AD 1766-1796). On the other side of the bank is the pre-historic site of Navadatoli (c.1750 BC). In ancient times, Maheshwar, also known as Mahishmati, was an important Hindu religious centre.

It was a serene evening full of quietude, only occasionally pierced by the raucous laughter of the young urchins as they leapt into the river.

I waited for Gyananand to complete his prayers. As he finished, his eyes met mine; I requested him not to move. I was somewhat conscious as I gesticulated wondering how he would respond being photographed. As fast as I could, I adjusted my position to be at his level, set the focus of my SLR, checked the aperture and the shutter speed and clicked. Mumbling thanks to him, I was almost leaving when I heard him say, “But you haven’t taken the picture of my face.”

Saying this he turned towards the camera and posed for the perfect picture-postcard. I pressed the shutter-release button. A childlike glint appeared on his face. He was very happy being photographed.

As I finished, Gyananand asked me what I would do with the photo.

“Most probably they would get published somewhere, in some newspaper or some magazine.” I replied.

This excited him and almost bubbling with enthusiasm said, “You mean to say everyone will see my photo!”

That got us talking.

“Yes.” I said to him. “But tell me, you are a sadhu, have renounced the world and yet are so crazy about a thing as mundane as your photo in a magazine, which, it is most likely, you won’t even get to see.”

This silenced him. I could make out that he was trying to frame an answer. He took his time and then replied in a much dramatic fashion.

“My name is Gyananand. I am from Tikamgarh in Madhya Pradesh. And I aspire to be a sanyasi (ascetic).”

His face got grave as he spoke. His eyes were downcast. Suddenly, he brought his head up, his eyes this time focused intently on mine and with a voice that quivered as he spoke, said, “But I am not sure whether I have made the right choice. This world still pulls me back!”

This brought us to the end of our conversation. I invite him for a cup of tea. The tea vendor is not pleased having him with us. Gyananand is pensive.

In between the sips he says. “My Guruji, my teacher and my guide had forced me to become a sanyasi and to wear saffron robes instead of anything else, for at least, as he explained to me, people will provide you with food.”