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John Lennon and George Harrison of The Beatles fly to Rishikesh, India, Asia, to spend time with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi at his Ashram.Full article:
When The Beatles left a bitterly cold London on 16 February 1968, they thought they were headed for Shangri-La. Having fallen under the spell of the Indian mystic, Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, they jetted off to his Rishikesh ashram, seeking spiritual enlightenment through his doctrine of transcendental meditation.
Just a couple of years later, the writer Geoffrey Moorhouse characterised Rishikesh as "a township totally given to spirituality and alms, vividly decorated with green and red cast-ironwork, dominated by a Victorian clock-tower, looking and feeling like a cross between Blackpool and Lourdes." Ringo summed it up rather more succinctly as "a bit like Butlins."
The Maharishi's Meditation Academy nestled in a Himalayan grove of sheshum and teak trees, where the sacred River Ganges, swollen from Monsoon rains, thundered through the valley below. Regrettably, The Beatles didn't immediately seem to notice that this particular Shangri-La was surrounded by a barbed-wire fence and that a brace of somewhat ominous guards paced beneath the 'Welcome' banner hung over the gate.
The Academy was funded from the non-materialistic Maharishi's Swiss bank account, swollen by annual tithes of one week's wages from each of his wealthy Western students. Boasting a staff of 40, the complex included a lecture theatre, printing works, laundry and, naturally, a landing pad for the Maharishi's private helicopter.
This unholy contrast to the plight of the starving, crippled unfortunates begging for alms in the market at nearby Deradoon, didn't stop The Beatles from cheerfully stumping up the daily $350 fees required by their host.
The money bought more than just the promise of imminent cosmic awareness. They slept on four-poster beds in flower-wreathed stone bungalows, and woke each sunny morning to an al fresco breakfast of toast and tea at a long wooden table where well-fed monkeys scampered down from the overhanging trellis to steal tasty morsels.
Embarking on this stony path to spiritual enlightenment the wisdom-seekers dressed humbly, in simple clothes made specially for the visit by their personal Indian tailor. They were followed everywhere by their own Indian masseuse, and waited on hand and foot by Indian houseboys.
As well as The Beatles, the ashram was playing host to Mike Love of The Beach Boys, folk-rock idol Donovan and his manager Gypsy Dave, the actress Mia Farrow and her sister Prudence, not to mention The Beatles' enigmatic electronics wizard, known as Magic Alex Mardas. This motley assemblage spent its time meditating, achieving cosmic enlightenment and sneaking in bottles of booze for the occasional late-night party out of sight of the Maharishi.
As Donovan remembers it, "I went out to India at the same time as them. One night we were in the Maharishi's room. The Maharishi was sitting on the floor cross-legged, and there was the four Beatles, Mia Farrow, maybe Mike Love of The Beach Boys, and myself, but there was a sort of embarrassed silence for some reason. I think we didn't know quite what we were expected to say or do, because this sort of thing was obviously all very new to us. To break the mood, John went up to the Maharishi, patted him on the head and said, "There's a good little guru". It worked. We all laughed. That gesture was very typical of John because he always said and did exactly what he felt." Donovan evidently found it a creative environment because, inspired by the presence of Patti Boyd's pretty sister Jenny, he wrote his hit Jennifer Juniper while there.
For others, the spell didn't last long. Ringo, unimpressed by the strict vegetarian regime, returned home within a fortnight, seeking after the nearest egg and chips. McCartney soon followed, but Lennon and Harrison stuck it out the longest, attempting to outdo each other with marathon meditation sessions. "While we were out there," adds Donovan, "I taught John the folk finger-picking style that I had learned, and he then taught it to George. You can hear John use it on the White Album and, while he was still in India, he used it when he was writing Dear Prudence."
The subject of that song, Prudence Farrow, says, "I had a consuming desire, from 1966, to study meditation. My goal was to get to India on one of the courses run by the Maharishi. In February 1968, Mia and I were assigned to the same accommodation block at The Beatles. I was to study with John and George. They were sincere but not as serious as I was. In the evenings they wanted sit around and play guitars while I was entirely focused on the meditation. I was rather fanatical about it, and I think that's the message behind Dear Prudence. They're saying "Don't be so intense, come out and play. I heard about the song just as The Beatles were leaving India. George signalled to me across a big lecture hall. He was gesturing and mouthing the words, 'We wrote you a song'. Then he had to rush off. I wish I'd had a chance to thank them for it, but I never saw them again."
Another Beatles tune written here, Sexy Sadie, was a direct result of Lennon and Harrison finally realising that their supposedly celibate giggling guru was not all he seemed when he was caught, as Lennon biographer Albert Goldman put it, 'with his dhoti up' in the bungalow of actress Mia Farrow.
After confronting the Maharishi with his earthly misdeeds, Lennon and Harrison left in a hurry. Arriving back in London, Lennon explained it all with new-found brevity. "We made a mistake."
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Just a couple of years later, the writer Geoffrey Moorhouse characterised Rishikesh as "a township totally given to spirituality and alms, vividly decorated with green and red cast-ironwork, dominated by a Victorian clock-tower, looking and feeling like a cross between Blackpool and Lourdes." Ringo summed it up rather more succinctly as "a bit like Butlins."
The Maharishi's Meditation Academy nestled in a Himalayan grove of sheshum and teak trees, where the sacred River Ganges, swollen from Monsoon rains, thundered through the valley below. Regrettably, The Beatles didn't immediately seem to notice that this particular Shangri-La was surrounded by a barbed-wire fence and that a brace of somewhat ominous guards paced beneath the 'Welcome' banner hung over the gate.
The Academy was funded from the non-materialistic Maharishi's Swiss bank account, swollen by annual tithes of one week's wages from each of his wealthy Western students. Boasting a staff of 40, the complex included a lecture theatre, printing works, laundry and, naturally, a landing pad for the Maharishi's private helicopter.
This unholy contrast to the plight of the starving, crippled unfortunates begging for alms in the market at nearby Deradoon, didn't stop The Beatles from cheerfully stumping up the daily $350 fees required by their host.
The money bought more than just the promise of imminent cosmic awareness. They slept on four-poster beds in flower-wreathed stone bungalows, and woke each sunny morning to an al fresco breakfast of toast and tea at a long wooden table where well-fed monkeys scampered down from the overhanging trellis to steal tasty morsels.
Embarking on this stony path to spiritual enlightenment the wisdom-seekers dressed humbly, in simple clothes made specially for the visit by their personal Indian tailor. They were followed everywhere by their own Indian masseuse, and waited on hand and foot by Indian houseboys.
As well as The Beatles, the ashram was playing host to Mike Love of The Beach Boys, folk-rock idol Donovan and his manager Gypsy Dave, the actress Mia Farrow and her sister Prudence, not to mention The Beatles' enigmatic electronics wizard, known as Magic Alex Mardas. This motley assemblage spent its time meditating, achieving cosmic enlightenment and sneaking in bottles of booze for the occasional late-night party out of sight of the Maharishi.
As Donovan remembers it, "I went out to India at the same time as them. One night we were in the Maharishi's room. The Maharishi was sitting on the floor cross-legged, and there was the four Beatles, Mia Farrow, maybe Mike Love of The Beach Boys, and myself, but there was a sort of embarrassed silence for some reason. I think we didn't know quite what we were expected to say or do, because this sort of thing was obviously all very new to us. To break the mood, John went up to the Maharishi, patted him on the head and said, "There's a good little guru". It worked. We all laughed. That gesture was very typical of John because he always said and did exactly what he felt." Donovan evidently found it a creative environment because, inspired by the presence of Patti Boyd's pretty sister Jenny, he wrote his hit Jennifer Juniper while there.
For others, the spell didn't last long. Ringo, unimpressed by the strict vegetarian regime, returned home within a fortnight, seeking after the nearest egg and chips. McCartney soon followed, but Lennon and Harrison stuck it out the longest, attempting to outdo each other with marathon meditation sessions. "While we were out there," adds Donovan, "I taught John the folk finger-picking style that I had learned, and he then taught it to George. You can hear John use it on the White Album and, while he was still in India, he used it when he was writing Dear Prudence."
The subject of that song, Prudence Farrow, says, "I had a consuming desire, from 1966, to study meditation. My goal was to get to India on one of the courses run by the Maharishi. In February 1968, Mia and I were assigned to the same accommodation block at The Beatles. I was to study with John and George. They were sincere but not as serious as I was. In the evenings they wanted sit around and play guitars while I was entirely focused on the meditation. I was rather fanatical about it, and I think that's the message behind Dear Prudence. They're saying "Don't be so intense, come out and play. I heard about the song just as The Beatles were leaving India. George signalled to me across a big lecture hall. He was gesturing and mouthing the words, 'We wrote you a song'. Then he had to rush off. I wish I'd had a chance to thank them for it, but I never saw them again."
Another Beatles tune written here, Sexy Sadie, was a direct result of Lennon and Harrison finally realising that their supposedly celibate giggling guru was not all he seemed when he was caught, as Lennon biographer Albert Goldman put it, 'with his dhoti up' in the bungalow of actress Mia Farrow.
After confronting the Maharishi with his earthly misdeeds, Lennon and Harrison left in a hurry. Arriving back in London, Lennon explained it all with new-found brevity. "We made a mistake."