Pulling into the dirt yard of Siddha Ashram, I tried reconciling what patchy information I had.

Padma, my yoga teacher cum tour guide, had described the inhabitants of Siddha Ashram, the Siddha Vidyarthies, as cult members.

I wasn’t sure she understood all the meaningful nuances of the word, but I was enjoying fanciful images of cult life.  I knew that the distinguishing features of their lifestyle involved breathing practice (pranayama) for about eight hours a day, sleeping for less than four hours each night and wearing all white.

Sleep deprivation and matching clothes?  Sounds like a cult to me too.

Lounging on benches out front of the broad cement building were a few of the 40-odd members.  Some read the newspaper while others looked to be catching contraband naps.  All stood to greet us and smiled with warm curiosity.

Two young men with tidy buns eagerly began our tour.  We learned through Padma’s translations that the ashram is supported by making aryuvedic medicine.  Concocted exclusively from plants, it offers natural remedies for everything from rashes to indigestion to beauty woes.

Walking into their workshop was not unlike stepping onto the set of a period piece.  Bathtub-sized vats of black, bubbling oils sat over wood fires and were stirred with long paddles by barefoot men wrapped in white cloth.  Drowning in herbal scents and smoky heat, we learned that most of the medicines have about 60 ingredients in them, all of which are grown and harvested on the compound.

As comfort increased, we began to ask more probing questions.  Yes, they can marry, but not in the traditional way—two people who like each other may live together and have children. No, they don’t get tired from not sleeping, because the pranayama is so energizing.  No, children are not required to practice pranayama, but they all eventually do.  Yes, people may join if they are willing to renounce everything and follow their way of life.

The Siddha Vidyarthies not only consider their lifestyle to offer the shortest path to self-realization, they also sustain that exhalation itself lets the life-force decay, and thus work to move the breath within them instead of letting it escape.

When the tour finished, we were offered lunch.  Despite all having been ill, we politely accepted and Siddha Vidyarthies began trickling into the tiny, unventilated room to watch us eat.

Dripping sweat, we submitted to heaping plates of rice, papaya curry, pineapple chutney and hot pickled mangoes.  It was our first experience without cutlery and we crammed disintegrating food globules into our mouths.  The women stared and laughed at us, occasionally asking questions through Padma like, why can’t we eat with our hands?  Why don’t we wear jewelry?

I, too eagerly, refused seconds and practically ran outside to wash my hands.

We couldn’t leave without purchasing an assortment of medicines (I bought oil to make my hair grow faster) and providing promises of return.  They gathered on the front patio and gave beautiful smiles and little waves as our car pulled away.  For a “cult,” it all seemed pretty benign.

Two days later, the “natural” hair oil gave me a very unnatural rash all over my face.  Perhaps I had underestimated the benign.