I was young and considered attractive. My husband and I were drifting apart, and the strain in our relationship left me feeling low. One day at the Tennessee Ashram, Jaggi noticed my state and said, “Depression is not good for you. We have to do something so that you won’t be depressed.” He then gave instructions about me to one of the women assisting him, Sheela Rajdev.
Sheela told me to come to the laundry room. Above the laundry area at the Isha Ashram, there was a secluded room where Jaggi performed what he called ‘spiritual cleansing.’ He instructed me to come there wearing a red sari. I was asked to shower beforehand and then go up to the room.
When I arrived, Jaggi handed me something to drink. The room was dark, filled with heavy incense smoke. He began a practice on my stomach, rubbing the area above my navel with his hands. At some point, I lost consciousness.
I woke up around 3 a.m. in a different building. As I regained awareness, I felt an undeniable sense of violation. There was wetness, soreness in my genital area, and all the unmistakable signs of sexual activity. A woman knows when something has happened, and it was clear to me.
At the time, I saw Jaggi as a divine figure. I convinced myself that whatever he was doing must have been for my own good. I never spoke about it then. But now, when I think back, I feel an overwhelming anger—at him, at the situation, and at my own naivety for believing in him so blindly.
