Beloved Narayan,

There was a time when the robe was a sign of a “beggar” — a mendicant with no home, no wealth, no soft beds. Just the bare earth to rest upon and food that came from another’s kindness. The robe belonged to those who embraced these hardships of renunciation.

It was a difficult path, yet one of dignity. To wear the robe was to accept humility, to walk without possessions, and to depend solely on Mother Nature. Even You, my Lord — the pinnacle of all spirituality — did not wear a robe unless You sometimes lived as a mendicant.

But today, the robe adorns those who sleep on soft beds, surrounded by comforts, and commanding authority. Their lives bear no trace of the mendicant’s way. And yet society bows to the cloth, mistaking it for renunciation itself.

Thus, the robe has lost its sanctity, my dear Narayan. When it is no longer grounded in the beggar’s way, it ceases to be a sign of outward renunciation.

If the robe has now taken on a new meaning, and society has chosen to let the “renunciate at heart” wear it, then let us at least be open about it. Better honesty than pretense, is it not?

So I decided to adopt this change. I wear black — like a robe — for I am a renunciate at heart. And that’s how things seem to be now: wear a robe, with or without a begging bowl. If things don’t change, then we change. Perhaps this is how traditions quietly evolve with the times.

Love,
Sri Devi