The bus rattled and bounced over the potholes on the road to Manikharem. The front off-side wing was loose, flapping and banging monotonously in the slipstream. Earlier, the rear emergency exit had flown open after we had hit a particularly deep pothole and the bus skidded to a halt. The driver climbed out of his cockpit and tried many different methods of closing it, each progressive operation a little more noisy and violent. Finally he returned to his seat, brought out a sledgehammer and bashed it a few times. Jammed shut at last, the door seemed to glower at all who looked it, sulking at the abrupt termination of its freedom. Sporting a triumphant smile, the driver climbed back in and we continued the dusty, noisy grind.

The Parvarti river surged brown and powerful way below us, a sinuous water serpent coiling its majestic passage through the mountains towards the distant sea. The road meandered tortuously along the side of the forested valley, some stretches almost at water level, and some clinging to near vertical cliffs high above. Jungle clawed its irrepressible, fecund passage up the mountainside, giving way reluctantly to grey-black rock in whose lofty realms eagles and vultures soared.

Infrequently we would drive through level areas of land; these rare usable plots were invariably cleared of foliage and divided into neat allotments. They were bursting with fruit or vegetables and obviously tended carefully. Nearby, small villages consisting of a handful of ramshackle houses would nestle by the wayside and groups of small children would appear, waving and running alongside the bus as we roared past.

Parvarti is one of many forms of the goddess who is consort to Lord Shiva, the yogi god and Lord of Destruction in the Hindu pantheon. She is a benign Earth Goddess who so loved Shiva that she underwent untold humiliations and tragedies to win his respect and love. She holds the key for balancing his wild untamable energy and is the guardian of both the forces of creation and destruction in the universe. I felt I knew her well, and I looked forward to deepening our relationship in the adventure which was presently unfolding. I was very aware that my crystal quest had led me deep into her domain; I greeted her and asked for blessings on my task. As we wended our noisy way along the sub-tropical mountain valley side, I withdrew to the still place within myself, and recalled my growing relationship with Shiva and Parvarti.

It had all started last year just before my previous visit to India, after I had met a group of people devoted to an Indian master called Babaji. His followers claimed he was the present incarnation of Lord Shiva who, sitting cross-legged on a tiger's skin and with a cobra around his neck, meditates on the creation of the Universe as it unfolds. He concentrates particularly on the destructive processes in the creative cycle, and is especially active at this mutable time in the Earth's evolution.

Babaji, according to his followers, had incarnated in order to oversee the planetary consciousness transform itself into a new, Golden Age. He was also the patron of a new spiritual and healing movement growing in popularity in New Age circles called Rebirthing. Rebirthing is regarded by many as a powerful tool to help this come to pass.

As master of an ancient breathing practice called Kriya Yoga, he developed this contemporary technique with an American called Leonard Orr to suit the current Western psyche. It is a potent method for transforming one's consciousness towards integration and true health, and I had decided to take a course of Rebirthing to help me on my path.

There is a delightful story describing his manifestation onto this worldly plane. He first appeared in a cave near Herakhan, a small town nestling in the foothills of the Himalayas. He was a young and intense yogi whose expression hovered somewhere between a lion and a cobra. Soon after he was 'discovered', he astounded the locals by not eating, drinking or moving for forty-seven days. It was whispered that he was the new incarnation of the 'Herakhan Babaji', a realised master famous for his saintliness who died in 19... , and the young yogi confirmed this. The original Herakhan Babaji had owned many temples, properties and even a hospital, and the matter was taken to court in order to determine present ownership. Locals and devotees who could remember the old Babaji met the young yogi and recognised him as the same soul they knew previously, inhabiting a new body. He won the case, and all of his former possessions were returned to him. This could only happen in India!

Around the whole matter I felt excited and repulsed. On one hand, I had a deep suspicion about people who set themselves up as 'higher' than others in the guise of the guru. On the other, I held a deep desire to visit and spend some time with saintly and spiritually awakened people. I determined that, if the omens were right, I would visit him.

On my next visit to India, an omen presented itself to me in the most extraordinary fashion:

I am in India! I have just got off the plane from England, and it is about six o'clock in the morning. I am waiting on the quay in Bombay harbour for the boat to Goa. A beautiful sunrise irradiates the world in golds and silvers, and I feel blessed. It is already warm, and I am wearing shorts and a loose shirt. The wavelets lap against the quay, busy seagulls wheel overhead and the unique smells of this blessed country, the land of my dreams, envelop me in a deep sense of familiarity and belonging.

A snake charmer approaches, disturbing yet also enhancing my reverie, and asks me if I would like a 'performance'; I assent. I have only experienced a snake charmer doing his stuff in the cinema or on the television but never in real life, and I want to see it with my own eyes.

He is an old man, and he sits down opposite me with about ten feet between us. He places a large wicker-work basket in front of him. We are immediately surrounded by a ring of children and diverse onlookers, two or three deep, chattering and curious. The snake charmer prepares himself and then starts to play his swollen flute. There is no reaction from the basket at all, and after a while he kicks it. Still no reaction. He kicks it again, and when still nothing happens, he flicks off the lid with his flute.

By now there is an on-going sense of nothing happening, and in desperation he prods his flute into the depths of the basket. There is a muffled hiss which soon subsides into silence. He repeats the manoeuvre, and a sleepy, bad-tempered cobra appears momentarily, hissing furiously. Its tongue flickers wildly from its mouth. Again, it sort of deflates, and sinks back into its container.

But I have seen it, and a startling change is coming over my feelings. From the brief glimpse I had of the poor creature, I have fallen deeply in love. At a glance I can see that it is old, it hasn't been treated well in its life, and I know I have some sort of sacred relationship with it. I recoil in shock, catching my breath, then my heart opens like a crimson flower and reaches inside the basket to embrace my new friend.

It must feel the surge of love energy, for its head pops up without any extra prompting by its owner, and then its eyes meet mine. I gaze into their timeless depths with so much love that I feel my chest is going to burst, and I know I am receiving a similar energy from the snake. Suddenly it shoots out of the basket, whistles across the pavement separating us, and dives into the space between my shirt and skin.

I feel it touch my waist , then wind its way up my body until it reaches my neck. it then proceeds to coil itself loosely around my throat, adjusting itself until fully comfortable. Then it relaxes, and becomes deathly still. I can see its neck and hood still erect out of the corner of my eye, however, and sense rather than see its tiny black tongue flickering like a mirage, tasting the atmosphere between us.

The world stops. I am in bliss. I feel complete, as if a piece of some cosmic jigsaw puzzle has suddenly been found and restored to its rightful place. I revel in the presence of five feet of solid snake at one with my essence, and know that the spirit of Shiva has singled me out. My body thrills with the outrageous experience, and I enter into deep samadhi. There is a silent, timeless period which cannot have lasted more than two or three minutes yet is an eternity. I don't feel anything when the snake charmer removes the cobra from my shoulders and stuffs it back into its basket; only a few minutes later, when he is trying to get some money out of me, do I return to the matter at hand.

I toy with the idea of buying the snake off him, yet dismiss the thought as impractical, as I can't look after it, let alone eventually take it out of the country. In a daze, still feeling the presence of the God and the return of my magical child, I give thanks.

This was the sign I had been waiting for. After a short holiday in Goa I then spent a month in silent meditation at the Vipassana meditation centre at Igatpuri. By the time I left that sacred centre I felt in harmony with the Spirit of India, and fully present for my journey. I felt clear and certain of myself. I then travelled to Herakhan in the Himalayan foothills, walked up the dried river-bed to Babaji's ashram, and introduced myself to a God who reputedly walked the same Earth and breathed the same air as myself.

It was one of the most unforgettable and transformative experiences of my life to meet and spend time with him. Ancient memories tumbled over themselves as they emerged once again into consciousness. I realised that once I had been deeply involved with Shiva and his consort Parvarti on this wonderful planet, although not in this life-time. I felt excited at the core of my being to have returned 'home'.

I soaked up his presence like a lizard in the sun. I observed him closely, yet kept my distance. I discovered he was truly a master when working with groups. In the past I had seen therapists work with one or even a handful of clients quite effectively, but to see one man dance with two or three hundred high-energy people both en masse and individually, simultaneously, was an incredible experience and honour. He embodied the male Shiva-force when he was fierce and all-destroying, attacking without mercy the "stuff", or psychological baggage different devotees tried to project upon him. Despite this terrifying aspect, he also channelled the soft goddess energy of unconditional love and compassion. It was always slightly alarming to witness this transformation, for it was quick and complete. As soon as I had adjusted, he had changed again.

Many people whom I met there were contacted by Babaji in their own countries, in dreams or by bizarre coincidences, and drawn to his ashram in India for out-of-this-world teachings and experiences. These unique interactions with a realised being would give them the experiences and impetus to change themselves, and the world.

After a few days it became obvious to me that, although I was to work with Babaji it was not to be at his centre at Herakhan. I felt I needed a more silent, contemplative place in which to work spiritually and exploit my skills most efficiently. I didn't know what to do, and prepared to leave. I pondered other alternatives, and I determined to play it by ear. The day before departure an opening presented itself.

I was in a chai stall on the riverbed nearby, skiving off work when Babaji appeared, entered and sat down. I knew that my special chance had come, and rejoiced. I approached him, lay down on my stomach in front of his feet as was the protocol, and waited.

"Yes?" I got to my knees.

"Babaji. I am not happy here," I said. "I hear you sometimes send devotees to your temples in the mountains to work spiritually. Can I stay at such a temple and learn to work with Shiva there?"

Pause.

"Go. Barrachina. Three months."

I waited for more. Nothing. Gods can be very abstract and abrupt sometimes.

"Thank you. I will leave tomorrow."

Nothing more. I bowed, said Namaste, and left.

I left the following morning and arrived in Barrachina two days later. It is a little village in the mountains, east of Almora and about half way along the road which terminates near the Nepalese border at Jageshwar. It was a typical group of dusty houses and shops on either side of a dusty street which attempted to lure the through traffic to a halt with chai shops, gaudy clothes and sticky sweets.

After getting directions from a young man running a chai stall, I walked a couple of miles along a rocky path to an exquisite white temple in the middle of a bowl-shaped valley. Golden wheat and green rice swayed in the breeze; the valley sides, pine covered, gave way to bare massive rock as the huge guardian mountains climbed into deep blue sky. The temple itself stood brilliantly white like the focus antenna in the centre of a giant radio telescope. It nestled at the convergence of two rivers and enclosed an old courtyard. On the bulbous roof of the temple was a symbol drawn in red paint: an eye in a pyramid.

The hair on the back of my neck rose; I had an overwhelming feeling of coming home.

I settled in quickly to a stringent routine of spiritual practices and exploration. I had a teacher in the 'physical world' who gave me instruction one or two times a week, whenever he was in the area. He was called Moshel Baba, or Peacock Baba, a widely respected and famous healer. I felt loved, cared for and completely safe; I had found my patron, indeed. During my time at the temple, it became obvious that Shiva embodied the raw creative energy of the Universe. As a result of instruction and practical training, I grew proficient in handling that force. From Parvarti I learnt the wisdom and balance necessary in the focussing and use of that energy.

I delighted in exploring Parvarti's domain, and allowed myself to be led through the web of little paths criss-crossing the surrounding area. They traversed the fields and meandered through the forest, each one an adventure in itself. As I got to know the area, each strand of the web added up into an increasingly complex and complete story about the realm of Parvarti, Shiva's wife and Earth Mother, as she revealed her secret places and beauty to me.

Moshel Baba's teachings could be summed up simply. One day I asked him what I was really doing there.

"You have been here before," he said sternly."You have come back again, in order to complete the job properly."

Two extraordinary experiences stand out of the many with Shiva, or Babaji, that contributed to radically change my life. The first happened on the night of the full moon, cool and inviting, when I was invited out for a walk in Parvarti's realms of silver enchantment:

I glide softly through the countryside, playing with shadows and the elusive breeze. It is the night of the full moon. The silver queen of the night reins supreme; I can feel the pressure of her silver arrows as they strike and pierce my thirsty, exposed skin. I am surrendered to her power and guidance in whichever form it takes. Owls call from distant trees and the undergrowth is disturbed occasionally by some nocturnal creature. A rocky mound by the side of the path beckons me; I sit there awhile taking in the ethereal beauty around me. In the silence I take up my flute and play, filling the sleeping valley with my song of joy and gratitude. I celebrate the greatest miracle of all: I have been given the extraordinary gift of life.

After a while I become aware of people walking towards me on the track. I stop playing and wait for them to pass. As they come near to where I am standing, I see they are two farmers on their way home and I am about to greet them when they freeze in shock. "Gopal Krishna!" I hear one of them whisper in what sounds like awe. Krishna is one of the major Hindu gods, always depicted as either playing, or carrying, a flute. Gopal Krishna is also the name given to me by the locals, as I always carry my flute on my person.

Before I realise what is happening, they are both on their knees in front of me, touching my feet and doing what simple people do when greeting a god, goddess or holy person in India. Quite violent emotions fill me, a mixture of embarrassment, wonder, peace, a feeling of rightness, of wrongness . . . I ask them to get up, but I realise they do not understand english . . .

Eventually, with much bowing and obeisance, they leave, and I walk home still a little shocked. Something, however, has for ever changed in me, for this is the first time someone has definitively recognised and honoured the God inside of me. . . .

The second occasion was while I was on pilgrimage to the temple at Kedarnath, one of the most sacred of Shiva centres, high in the Himalayas:

It is a long, serpentine climb up the mountain, about sixteen kilometres of striving upwards against gruff gravity. The path twists and turns back on itself which reduces the steep gradient to a manageable haul. The trees are soon left behind and at just over half way to my goal I cross the snow line. A fierce coolness wrestles with the heat of the piercing sun and the whiteness is quite blinding. The mountainside seems wide open and is exposed from then on, apart from the occasional cairn of stones marking the way. I walk as one of a thin but steady stream of pilgrims making a once-a-lifetime journey to the source of our sacred longings: the home of Lord Shiva. I skirt an iridescent glacier and then enter a small village, a large collection of huts, really, which are half concealed in deep snow. Kedarnath! A merciless wind gusts around corners, whipping the powdery snow into drifts and rattling anything loose. I organise a cold, windy room for the night then visit the temple.

A long queue of pilgrims waits in the open courtyard; half of them are barefoot and wearing rags. I have to take my boots off as they are made of leather, taboo in Hindu temples. We shuffle slowly forward and finally enter the large building. Inside it is dark; the atmosphere is full of muffled chanting and pungent, sickly incense smoke. There is a contingent of maybe a dozen priests doing puja for supplicants, for it is considered very auspicious to be blessed at such a holy shrine.

As soon as I enter I feel their eyes on me – to them I am automatically a 'rich Westerner' – and I see them shuffling towards me like leathery, greedy vultures. I have quite a lot of difficulty in explaining to them that I simply want to sit in silence. Finally, grudgingly, they leave me alone in a deserted corner of the temple. I make contact with Shiva for a short while, then the oppressive atmosphere, unwelcome attention and chink of money drives me out.

I spend a cold, but very satisfying night in my room without windows and then set out early the next morning on the return journey. The weather is bright and sunny. I have bags of energy and I'm determined not to follow the winding track all the way to the bottom. Whenever there is a chance of a shortcut I will take it. Although it is icy, I am wearing only my loose white cotton trousers and bright red cotton shirt, with an 'Om' on its breast. With my bald head and pigtail – a 'mundan' haircut encouraged by Babaji – I look quite a sight.

The first chance of a shortcut comes at the glacier. The pathway makes a long detour around its edge, yet I can see a narrow animal track leading straight across. I am a little nervous but decide to cross. It is the first time I have attempted to traverse a glacier, and I watch a beautiful lightshow refracting and reflecting in flashes of diffused sunlight below my feet. A little like walking on stars. About halfway across I suddenly slip, and before I can do anything about it, start sliding down the mountain.

The mountain is very steep, hence the winding path. My speed increases rapidly; luckily I have fallen onto my backside with the bottom of my rucksack to stabilise me. The glacier is solid ice, its surface slightly melted from the sun's rays. There is no way I can stop. I don't even try, and am soon flying down the mountainside. The air starts buffeting my exposed skin, my loose clothes are flapping loudly, and I feel my pigtail pulling, stretching out horizontally behind me.

I soon realise I am dead. The mountain only gets steeper, so there is no way I can stop. Where the glacier ends maybe half a mile ahead, there is an almost sheer drop to a roaring river some hundreds of feet below. When I realise the hopelessness of my position, a wildness surges through me, and total abandonment fills me for the first time in my life.

I start to laugh. Shiva, you trickster, you cosmic joker, you sneaky divine bastard! I thought that you were God of death and destruction merely in a symbolic sense, and now you show me, too late, the real truth! Well, I'm damned if I'm not going to, for the first time in my life, become fully aware and live as completely as I possibly can in the time still allotted me!

I am free! At last! The weight of convention, my fears, my guilts, my self-importance, my past, and my future dissolve. They are nothing, completely eclipsed by the omnipotent presence of Death. My spirit soars in the lightness and simplicity of release. So I am going to die. Then sod it, I'm going to enjoy myself while I'm still alive! I scream in joy and exhilaration.

Again and again I scream and whoop, my fist raised high in salute to life. My speed, ever increasing, causes me to literally fly through the air for quite considerable distances after hitting little bumps in the ice. Miraculously, allied to consummate concentration and coordination, I always manage to keep my balance when landing, and stay right way up on my seat.

I am aware out of the corner of my eyes the steady stream of pilgrims, donkeys, and servants carrying the sick in baskets, on the path to my right. They stop and watch me with open mouths, witnessing my final dance as I whistle by. They will remember this sight for the rest of their lives! I am wild: for a few seconds in this strange incarnation, I am fully alive, and ready to die.

All at once I see I have a chance. One of the snaking loops of the path winds directly below me to the right and I estimate there is a possibility of reaching it if I guide myself a little. The odds are that I will either miss it, hit it and bounce onto the ice on the other side, or even fly straight across without landing. At the very least, hitting it at this speed will certainly be quite damaging. All of these thoughts arise in a split second. With my arms and legs I steer myself as well as I can – my god it's coming up quickly . . . BANG!

I open my eyes and test my body. Limb by limb, neck, torso. By a miracle I am all in one piece, and everything seems to work. Years later I was to find out that some of the more fanatic or extreme devotees of Shiva would make their pilgrimage to Kedarnath, and then would hurl themselves off the cliff below the glacier in their religious frenzy!

But now I move slowly and sit up, bruised, and with trembling hands light a cigarette. Shiva, you teach some pretty fierce lessons . . . With a whoop, I fling away my cigarette, don my rucksack and run down the mountain, not stopping until I reach the bottom.

Thus Shiva taught me the correct way to die, and, perversely, the right way to live.

My consciousness returned somewhat reluctantly to the extremely dusty, uncomfortable busride along the valley side. I silently greeted Parvarti again and asked her to guide me to her treasures. I took out my crystal and allowed the sunlight to activate some lovely rainbows in its centre, marvelling again at its beauty. I had no idea where to start my quest for crystals, and I decided to get off the bus whenever it felt right. After a while we entered a village called Shat, my sense of humour was tweaked, and I alighted.

As the bus accelerated away, I spied a small chai shop and was soon cradling a welcome cup of spiced tea in my hands. I could see that tourists did not usually spend much time there for Shat was, on the surface, a typical small Indian village like ten thousand others. But my energy body knew otherwise and a delicious sense of excitement held me in its thrall. As I relaxed after the journey, a small group of curious children gathered on the roadside pretending not to look at me, and tables in the room were slowly being filled by interested villagers.

The chai wallah came over and sat down at my table. We talked about the weather, what my name was, my country of origin, where I had been in India, where I wanted to go, how I was finding India, my name, my profession . . . and why was I there in Shat?

Out came my crystal, and he inspected it with appreciation. A sparkle flashed in his eye and he started to laugh. He then got up and made his way to the opposite wall of the shop. Rummaging about on cobwebby shelves, he returned with an old cardboard box and opened it.

It was full of crystals in all shapes and sizes and I looked at them in delight – I could tell I was hot on the trail! The children and onlookers, who had mysteriously disappeared at the sight of my crystal, returned singly and in groups with excited grins on their faces, chattering away, hands and pockets bulging with crystals. The display of sparkling rainbows and gems in that chai shop could have rivalled any of the gem shops in London, and a score of voices tried to relate, all at the same time, the stories behind each glittering find.

We spent a happy and intimate morning swapping stories and inspecting treasures, and rarely have I experienced being accepted and enjoyed, and vice versa, so much with Indian people. However, I wanted to be on my way before too long, and made the mistake of asking directions to the place where crystals could be found. I gathered from the profuse replies that I could walk in any direction, 1,5,10, 20 or 60 kilometres, and find crystals. For the reader unused to India, asking directions or the right time in India causes far more complexities than the original blissful state of ignorance. Remembering to forget all the well-meant advice, I tuned into intuition mode.

I left the chai shop with multiple wishes for a successful hunt, and trusted my body to take the right directions. I walked along the road for half a mile towards Manikharam, and then saw a pathway leading away to my right. I clambered up the bank and followed it through trees and thick undergrowth. The sun was shining warmly and deep shadows were cast by the canopy overhead. The earth exuded a smell of fresh mustiness, and the path felt friendly and exciting. I held my crystal in my left hand and asked it to guide me.

I had walked less than a mile when I saw something glittering in the middle of the rocky path ahead. I picked it up and my heart lurched as I realised I had found my first crystal! It was an inch and a half long, pointed, and filled with what seemed to be bubbles which created multiple rainbow explosions when held in the sunlight. It was exquisite. Holding it in my other hand, I asked it to take me to its brothers and sisters.

My body was now operating on automatic pilot. I checked out the ground I was walking on for possible danger, and left the rest to itself. I left the path and made towards a cliff to my right. Part of the face had collapsed recently and lay exposed for the first time for millions of years. I took off my rucksack and left it at the base of the sheer cliff and watched as my body found a narrow pathway leading up the rock face. It climbed easily, cat-like, until the path ran out. It then sat down on a small flat area seemingly designed for the exact shape of my backside. I rested there a moment in comfort and relative safety.

My 'normal' eyes scanned the rock in front of me and saw nothing of interest, just reddish coloured fresh rock, washed in the monsoon rains, with small seams of white quartz cutting through it. I watched with interest as my left hand moved up, touched the mud streaked surface, and started to scratch at a sticky clay enclave in the rock.

There were pebbles in the oozy brown-red clay that were loosened and fell at my feet. Lazily I looked at them, picked one up and squeezed its coating of clay. Straight lines pressed into my fingers. Frantic with excitement I spat on it, wiped it on my trousers and a beautiful, intensely clear crystal stared back at me with an unblinking, knowing eye of ice. I scrabbled at the other pebbles in the clay – more crystals! I had found a nest of them!

I launched myself at this miniature 'crystal cave' disguised so effectively with clay and soon a messy pile of assorted lumps grew at my feet. I took off my felt hat and filled it. Soon all my pockets were full, and I had to climb down to my rucksack to unload. I climbed back up and proceeded to fill them again. And again . . .

By mid-afternoon the hole in the cliff was as deep as my elbow and about a foot in diameter. It tapered to a point inside the rock and finally I felt I had removed all the crystals that wanted to come. They had been tightly compressed amidst clay and crystal shards, very difficult to dislodge the further in I reached, and my hands were streaming with blood from all the nicks and punctures they had sustained. A few drops of my blood was the least I could leave as an offering, and I gave it away gladly.

I had had enough. I kissed the crystal cave, an earthen womb which had just given birth to a thousand crystal beings. They had been entrusted into my care and although I had no idea what to do with them, I accepted them gladly and promised to honour the great responsibility I had been given. I said goodbye, made my way back to Shat where I bathed myself and my clothing in a nearby stream. I was able to show my treasures to the excited villagers before the evening bus came, and later that night I was back in my room at Manali.

So I had found the crystals, but that was only the first small part of the journey.

The next was to find out why.