Prabhu Sharan

– 7 September 2024

In the 70’s, Prabhu was one of the first western sadhus we had come across in Goa and at the ashram in Pune. He was originally from what was then Yugoslavia (a Communist country), to which he couldn’t return without getting thrown into jail, possibly because of having left the country in the first place. Whoever came in contact with him remembers him as one of the most gentle and soft-spoken persons they have ever come across.

In the photo below (cr Madhav Krishna) he is sitting, on the left, in his abode in Goa above the waterfall at Vagator beach where he would invite his friends for a smoke. He made a living from sewing sadhu and chillum bags.

Ritambhara remembers, “As a young ‘hippie’, in early March 1975 I traveled up to Pune from Goa, and after a couple of days found a room in Sunder Lodge (Bund Garden Rd.). Within a few days of being there, I met Prabhu, who was living the life of a traditional sadhu. He had very few possessions; a couple of langotis (loin cloths) and a larger lungi (a kind of shawl to wrap around his body at the waist, or when sleeping), and a bag to carry his few bits and pieces. He seemed to have settled on a thin mattress on one of the porches of Sunder Lodge.

“Some weeks later, I moved into the Riverhouse, and at some point, he also started living in the grounds there, on the riverbank below the house. I eventually moved into Laxmi Villas, for a few years. I met and hung out with Prabhu on many occasions over the years I spent in Pune but, in fact, knew little about him. He was one of the most beautiful sannyasins I knew in those early Pune One days.”

More recently friends saw him in Pune when visiting in winter. He was living in Popular Heights 3. The photo below was taken in his flat about 10 years ago. He would carry cat biscuits about, for whomsoever he came across…

Farewell to Prabhu

by his sister, Ma Atmo Heera

My name is Ma Atmo Heera (Magdalena Nardelli) and I am Prabhu’s sister.

This is our story and this is the last photo of him.

Two weeks before starting the second year in my School for personal growth, Healing Arts (21.7.-28.7) in Croatia, I received a message from Shanti, my brother’s wife, that Prabhu was ill and that she had to leave for Japan to renew her visa.

Prabhu had finally decided to allow his friends to take him to a doctor. The medical report said: TBC (intestinal tuberculosis) which is curable with a 6-month dose of antibiotics. For some reason, however, he refused hospitalization, as well as home treatment, and it seemed he was going to die any moment.

All my prayers were heard; I got a visa in 3 days; on the same day I bought a plane ticket. Two days later I took the evening catamaran to Dubrovnik, followed by a night bus to Zagreb. The next morning I caught the early flight to Paris and then Mumbai. I had previously organized the taxi in Pune to take me to Popular Heights 3.

The whole time I was praying that he should wait for me to arrive and not die before I get there. At 6 am I finally arrived and I found him alive – but just barely. He was so weak that he had to crawl on the floor to open the door for me.

(From the time Prabhu left home for Uni, we spent very little time together; a month here, a month there, either in Pune or Croatia, and those months were always the most valuable experiences in my life.)

I spent the whole day with him, caressing and hugging him. I gave him small spoon-fulls of honey and small sips of fresh mandarin juice and coconut milk. He drank and licked like a little bird. I used all my skills, my knowledge and my wisdom, and all my love, to keep him a little bit longer with me. We hugged and cried, we cried and laughed, telling each other the stories of our lives and our childhood.

I cleaned his apartment, bought a new mattress for me to sleep on, and we got WiFi from his friend. I fed and caressed his cat and watered his plants. Gave him his medicines. He had not yet decided if he wanted to go or stay. I was at peace with that and stayed in my heart. I had decided to respect his choice.

Prabhu left his body on his 76th birthday, on a Saturday morning, 7.9.2024, about 9 am. Darshana, his old friend, told me that his wish was to die on his birthday.

He left in peace, with a smile on his face and with Osho’s mala in his hands. I lit a candle, sang some old love ballads from my island, recited some Rumi poems and dedicated a special incense to him. I didn’t cry.

I then took a shower and waited some time before washing and preparing his body. I followed all the details we had discussed while he was still alive. He wanted to be dressed in maroon, with his mala, without shoes. He was then cremated that evening at 6 pm.

This whole month has been so emotional, intense, full of love and awareness and I am grateful to existence for the time I have spent together with my brother.

His ashes remain in India, the country he so much loved.

Brother and sister Brother and sister Brother and sister

More Tributes

BLESSINGS AUM shanti

AUM shanti shanti baba

Prakash

I came in contact with Prabhuji in Poona One. He was living sadhu style in a corner of Surrender Garden. His place, a bamboo hut with a dhuni, was well taken care of. He taught me some of his clay art. In Poona Three, we spent some time in Gokarna and over the years we became intimate friends. For Maha Shivaratri in 2023, I brought him a small gift from the mountains. We both had stopped smoking at that time. But it was Shiva’s night to sleep and the devotees have to stay wakeful. So for the occasion… both of us ended up flat in the lap of Sarasvati. What a blast!

In Feb. 2024 I visited him again. His beloved Shanti was present. She served us quite a few cups of all kinds of green tea while I recorded part of his life story.

Ashvabodhi

I was living in Pune right up until life returned to normal after the covid lockdown. Everyone was back on the streets as I took my usual cruise through Koregaon Park to sit at my favourite cafe. I always saw Prabhu en route and we always waved to each other.

Did he know me? I don’t think so. Did I know him? No, except by sight. And yet it was always a warm comforting greeting at a time when there were no longer so many westerners around. It was as if we both shared a secret: Osho.

Farewell, Prabhu. I’ll remember your presence without ever having known your name.

Savita

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