“HER RAGES WERE NO LONGER A LAUGHING MATTER”
Where there is mind control, manipulation, and abuse of power, there is normally malpractice around money. I’m sorry to say, but in this regard .... was no different from all the other pedestal mounters. She drew money and golden jewelry like a magnet, and her pot always overflowed. For years I noticed that rich and generous devotees received royal treatment, the red carpet rolled out before them. For the most part, I justified this behaviour as ....’s way of taking from the rich to give to the poor—a modern-day Robin Hood, if you will.
Later I realised that a large chunk of the offerings placed directly in ....’s hands in India went right to her family. These offerings had been given by devotees in the belief that the money would support her charitable work. Initially I was okay with this. I considered it ....’s duty to provide her parents a comfortable home and the dowry to marry off her sisters, especially in a culture that places such emphasis on family values. But .... went way above and beyond the call of duty. Her parents, three brothers, and three sisters each received large sums of money and gold.
As the number of devotees increased, so did her aggression, and her rages were no longer a laughing matter. She often justified this be-
MATA AMRITANANDAMAYI WITH SWAMI AMRITASWAROOPANANDA IN THIRUVANANTHAPURAM
who wanted to remain in the ashram knew better than to criticise or question.... Those who dared to speak out were immediately blacklisted, deemed a traitor, and looked upon as a threat to the preservation of faith among her disciples. Early the next morning I proceeded to the library to talk with.... He immediately locked the door and wrapped his arms around me. Before I knew it, I was lying on the floor and he was forcing himself upon me. It all happened so fast. I felt powerless. I flinched as his initial entry came with a sting. I was no virgin, but it had been six years since I had allowed any man inside me. There I lay, motionless, staring at the wall, but this time the tears were in my eyes. There was not a drop of sexual excitement running through my body, only terror and shock. I couldn’t believe what was happening. But it was too late. Excerptedfrom Holy Hell: A Memoir Of Faith, Devotion and Pure Madness byGail Tredwell, published in 2013 havior by saying she only scolded those closest to her. For years I consoled myself with the belief that I, then, must be the closest, and I clung onto that theory like someone dangling over a cliff’s edge. Anybody