c. 2004 Religion News Service

PUNE, India _ Followers of the late Indian mystic Osho _ a man who once owned 93 Rolls-Royces _ have taken his high-society lead, converting his old spiritual headquarters into an opulent relaxation resort.

In the 1980s, the western Indian city of Pune served as preaching grounds for Osho _ better known then as Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh _ drawing thousands of hippies and professional dropouts who built a ramshackle colony of bamboo huts to hear the guru’s blend of pop psychology and ancient Indian wisdom.

Once known for hosting orgies, disease and drug-induced raves, the site, recently rechristened Osho Meditation Resort, is now better known for its tennis courts, lagoon-shaped swimming pool, high-speed cyber cafe and cappuccino bar that serves vodka in the evenings.

The resort is “the manifestation of Osho’s vision,” says park administrator Yogendra, a Canadian lawyer born D’Arcy O’Byrne. “It’s just heaven.”

In 1981, Osho, a slender, white-bearded son of a cloth merchant, achieved notoriety in the United States when he tried to build a utopian settlement, known as Rajneeshpuram, in the central Oregon desert. He returned to Pune in 1987 after the ranch was engulfed by scandal, including a bioterror attack led by his personal secretary that saw the poisoning of 700 people in a neighboring town that was hostile to the group.

Behind the Pune commune’s makeover are five Osho disciples _ a Canadian, a Briton, two Germans and an Indian _ who in the years following his death in 1990 seized control of the Inner Circle, the highly secretive group the guru entrusted with continuing his work. In addition to the property, they control a multimillion-dollar trove of Osho’s assets, including 7,000 hours of recorded lectures, which have been written down in more than 600 books in 53 languages.

Changes wrought by the group _ renaming the commune a “resort,” doubling entrance fees, demolishing one of Osho’s lecture halls _ have upset many of the old-time devotees. An influential faction of them broke away from the commune four years ago in protest, publicly decrying what they saw as the commercialization of the mystic’s legacy. They set up a rival camp called Osho World in New Delhi, with its own meditation hall, gallery and magazine.

“The (Pune) commune has become a club for the select few,” says defector Chaitanya Keerti, one of the guru’s original disciples and editor of the Osho World magazine. “The emphasis now is on entertainment, relaxation, Jacuzzi, sauna.”

Some say greed is behind the new up-market orientation. Former insiders say the resort, which now draws 200,000 visitors yearly, is earning about $50 million per year.

The grounds are exquisite. Even as 12 days of muggy monsoon rain have turned nearby unpaved roads into muck, the 40-acre campus remains a sparkling oasis undulating with jasmine-scented bamboo groves, peacocks, silky waterfalls and yawning white marble paths.

Sanitation is prized. The resort runs its own organic farm, packages its own sugar and tissues, and treats water from its own wells at an on-site lab. Staff members encourage guests to shower frequently and give short lessons on how to spoon food from the cafeteria bar without spilling. Whether keen to the stain of capitalism or the filth of Indian rupee notes, cash is banned; visitors must buy “contribution” vouchers.

In display of their harmony, all of the guests, known among themselves as “beloveds,” wear robes _ $3 on the street or $7 at the “nonprofit” Osho boutique _ maroon in the daytime and white in the evening. Osho said the robes gather energy with their use, especially the white.

On a recent morning several beloveds sit in silent, yogic poses facing a brook. Others check e-mail behind the cyber cafe’s blue-tinted windows or sip white wine by the pool. A lone Indian woman twirls like a ballerina, her eyes shut in bliss, along the marble floor of Buddha Grove.

“There’s just some gorgeous things about Osho,” says Ananda Das, Sanskrit for “seeker of bliss,” sipping an Earl Grey tea by the resort’s black marble pyramid complex. “He’s wild, you know? He is an invitation to grow in consciousness.”

Das, a gray-bearded house painter from Australia whose birth name was Russell Gardner, says he lives partly on an inheritance. He’s participating in the resort’s Work as Meditation program, in which guests work 42 hours per week for the privilege of attending meditations.

“Meditation is a luxury,” explains Das, dismissing the suggestion that Osho followers should reach out to the poor. “Buddha had this big compassionate heart,” he says. “I’m not so compassionate. I’m interested in me personally.”

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Most disciples are harried foreigners; Americans represent the largest group. While in Osho’s day disciples came for months and years, resort goers now do short stays like the popular Wellness Weekend Getaway _ $120 for two nights at the posh, on-site guesthouse _ a soaring price tag in a country known among backpackers for its dirt cheap fares.

“The demographics here are so high,” says administrator Yogendra. “They have Ph.D.s, double Ph.D.s, law degrees. So many doctors, so many psychologists, psychiatrists are here.”

“They have everything in the world that is supposed to make them happy,” he adds, “and they’re not happy.”

The meat and potatoes of the resort are the meditations. A new menu _ Craniosacral Balancing, Primal Deconditioning, The Secret of the Golden Flower _ is offered every day. But many of the beloveds, with an average age of 32, appear to come instead for the revelry: There are bikini parties by the pool, costume parties, lunchtime disco parties, as well as nightly parties by the cappuccino bar. The preferred soundtrack is techno.

The festive atmosphere is inspired by Osho himself, who drew most of his attention for his radical views on sex. Dubbed the “sex guru” in the Indian press, he preached that monogamy is foolhardy, marriage is a prison for women, and young boys and girls should explore each other’s bodies.

Critics, though, say that resort leaders, who have taken down nearly all of the hundreds of Osho portraits that once decked the property, have gone too far, substituting entertainment for spiritual quest.

Sitting alone in her maroon robe at a nearby vegetarian cafe, Prem Dita says resort goers these days are not true disciples.

“If you are at a higher level, it’s boring,” she says dismissively, nibbling at a croissant.

Dita, a long-faced, graying German who says her birth name is only Weintraub, came to Pune 26 years ago, when Osho was giving 50-cent sermons, and she’s never left, she says. With no family in Germany, she says she has nothing to return to. The city of the sage’s resting place is her home now.

The old days were “really fantastic,” says Dita, who refuses to enter the new complex. “It’s terrible now. It’s like a Holiday Inn.”

MO/PH END RNS