Looking back now, it was quite reckless. Before going to India, I had my yoga teacher, Mr. Kimura, write a letter to the yoga training center where I was headed, saying something like, “A young man named Danjo will be coming, so please take good care of him.” Mr. Kimura was a world-renowned authority on yoga therapy, and at the time, he was traveling all over Japan giving lectures, so I couldn't stay by his side all the time.

So, that's how I ended up going to India in December at age 27 for three months of training. I thought I'd done my homework before leaving, but it was incredibly tough—beyond what I'd imagined.

I flew from Kansai Airport via Thailand, arriving in New Delhi around 1 AM. The city was pitch black; I had no idea what kind of place I'd landed in. Unlike today, there was no internet, so I hadn't booked a hotel locally.

After landing, I told an Indian taxi driver in simple English, “If there's a cheap hotel around here, please take me there.” He said, “Got it,” and let me in. A strong wind blew in from outside, so I thought, “Is the taxi window broken?” I looked closely and realized... there was no side door.

Jakusui: Huh? Cars without doors? We don't see those in Japan, do we?

Priest Danjo: No. But in India, they were driving around like it was nothing. And it was a taxi, mind you. I thought, “If my luggage rolls out and falls off, that'd be a disaster,” so I held onto my bags tightly.

After driving for a while, we arrived at an old hotel in Old Delhi. I checked in at the front desk. It was cheap, for sure. I think it was under ¥1,000 in Japanese yen. They showed me to a bed so beat-up I thought, “Seriously, I'm sleeping here?” But I'd arrived late at night and was exhausted, so I figured I'd just tough it out for one night.

Before bed, I thought about at least taking a shower. But I'd heard stories about people having all their luggage stolen while showering or sleeping, so I tied a long rope securely around the doorknob and the bed to make absolutely sure the door couldn't open, then got in the shower.

At first, hot water came out, but then the shower stopped midway. I was washing my hair at the time, so I was left covered in suds. “Oh no,” I thought, trying to manage my hair all tangled up with soap. I wrapped myself in a bath towel and decided to call the front desk. Since it was a cheap hotel, there was no phone in the room. With no other choice, I untied the long rope I'd worked so hard to secure, thinking, “I shouldn't have tied that rope in the first place,” and headed to the front desk.

In my broken English, I said, “The shower stopped, please do something.” The receptionist casually replied, “Well, if it stops, there's nothing you can do. Just wipe the soap suds off with a bath towel and go to sleep like that.” In the end, I had no choice but to wipe off the suds, put on my pajamas, and go to sleep. That was the start of my India trip. I seriously thought about going home right then.

The next morning, I woke up and was stunned by the streets of Old Delhi. New Delhi is a new city, but Old Delhi is ancient. Cows were walking right in front of me, wild pigs were moving about, there were crowds of people—it was pure chaos. “I need to get out of this city fast and head to the training center in Rishikesh,” I thought, and went to buy a bus ticket.

'Rishi' means ‘holy’ or ‘saint,’ and ‘keshi’ means ‘person.’ So ‘Rishikesh’ means ‘where saints dwell.’ It's about a twelve-hour bus ride from Old Delhi. It's a famous place where many saints lived, meditating and sitting in zazen to attain enlightenment.

I finally arrived at the bus stop there and was going to stay at the dojo introduced by Mr. Kimura. Just as I thought, “Alright, let's work hard here for the next three months,” on the third day, I got sick from the water and started having diarrhea.

Back in Japan, the food was good and the water was clean, so I hardly ever had diarrhea. Before coming, I'd been warned, “Be careful with the water in India. Even if it looks clear, it's different inside,” but I never imagined it would turn out this bad.

The diarrhea left me completely drained, but I still wanted to go see this water source for myself. So, I climbed about 300 meters up the mountain. It was pretty tough. There, I found a water source enclosed by concrete.

Unlike Japan, in India, water gathers in huge amounts during the rainy season. But as the dry season sets in, the water gradually dries up, and because it's so hot, it spoils quickly. Since it was a yoga center, I assumed the water would be managed properly to some extent, but that wasn't the case at all. The moment I lifted the heavy lid on the water source and peered inside, I got chills. “What!? I drank this water!? No wonder my stomachs got messed up!”

Even after some time, my diarrhea wouldn't stop. While wandering around town, I came across a small shop named “Shangar.” It felt more like a street stall than an actual shop. When tourists sat down, the owner would serve them curry.

He saw me and asked in broken English, “You're from Japan, right?” So, I replied, “Yes. Actually, my stomach's been acting up, and I can't move anymore.” Then he said, “I'll make curry for you. Come eat every morning.”

He was such a kind man. I felt like he saved me. They serve curry at the yoga center too, but I couldn't eat it because I was afraid of the water. When I asked him what kind of water he used at his stall, he said he scooped water from the Ganges River right in front of us with a bucket to cook.

But compared to water stored in tanks, the constantly flowing water of the Ganges is fresher, and since it's close to the Himalayas, I figured it might be somewhat different from the water in town. After eating the curry he made, my diarrhea cleared up in about two weeks. It was coconut curry. I don't know if he studied medicine, but he made it knowing coconut is best for an upset stomach.

Next to the yoga ashram was a Swami Sivananda facility. Actually, before going to India, I had contact with a disciple from the Sivananda center. When the second-highest-ranking person at Swami Sivananda came to Japan for a lecture, Mr. Kimura was the interpreter for him. He said to me, “Why don't you come along with me too?” So, I went with him. Since I was vegan, they asked me to handle the meals. I worked shifts cutting vegetables and making curry, learning a lot about veganism.

When I visited the Swami Sivananda disciple I'd met back then, he said, “Oh, it's Danjo,” and welcomed me. I told him, “I'm training at a yoga dojo now, but I got sick from contaminated water and had diarrhea.” He replied, “Then come to Swami Sivananda and change your environment.” That's how I ended up doing yoga training at the Sivananda ashram.

That turned out to be a good thing, too. Every morning there was a Dharma talk by Swami Sivananda himself. I listened to the talks and meditated with everyone in the meditation hall. People came there from all over the world, and it became an opportunity to meet such people. That's where I made two friends. One was a Greek woman named Maria, and the other was a man named Manoje.

Swami Sivananda had seven disciples. These seven disciples established a yoga center on an island called Mauritius. Manoje, who became my friend, was around twenty-two or twenty-three years old. He was born on Mauritius and had been studying at the yoga center there since he was a child.

I talked a lot with Manoje, and as we did various things together, I gradually regained my energy. Maria, a Greek woman, came to Swami Sivananda wanting to study spirituality.

The three of us listened to the abbot's talks together, went shopping, and became like siblings. Later, I ordained and entered training at a monastery. At that time, Manoje came to Japan and gave lectures on the Sanskrit Heart Sutra, which were truly wonderful. Honestly, while in India, I never imagined forming such connections.