My abuse in the Osho Rajneesh cult has haunted me for decades. Now I’m ready to speak out
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In 1978, when I was nine years old, I unexpectedly moved to India with my free-spirited mother, who had recently become a disciple of Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh (later known as Osho). Like others of her generation, she was swept up in the allure of Rajneesh’s promises: enlightenment, freedom and belonging. Osho denounced traditional religion, offering a new path to self-liberation through cathartic meditations and therapy groups, communal living and free love. In the west, they called Osho the “sex guru”.
Shortly after our arrival at Rajneesh’s ashram, I was initiated into the community and the guru gave me a new name: Ma Prem Sarito. I felt as if I now belonged, and being in the ashram was an exhilarating adventure, a portal to a world where normal boundaries dissolved. School became a distant memory. The lush gardens and nooks and crannies of the ashram were transformed into a playground where my friends and I roamed freely, liberated from structure and rules. My mother, like many other parents, embraced Rajneesh’s philosophy that children belonged not to their biological parents but to the collective. Before long, I moved into the ashram and rarely interacted with my mother.
Though I was loved by many sannyasins (Rajneesh’s devotees) and some looked out for me, there was no formal structure to ensure my emotional or physical wellbeing. Over time, the facade of love and celebration began to crack, revealing darker undercurrents that quietly enveloped me. It began innocently enough – a guard teaching my friends and me how to french kiss. But soon I began to sense the inappropriate attention of certain men.
One day, a man coaxed me and another girl into giving him a hand job. We were both only 10 years old. Though I tried to convince myself it was just a game, a reflection of the open sexuality around us, it felt grossly wrong. Deep down, I knew that unless I remained vigilant, situations like this would continue to occur.
These darker undercurrents entangled me more fully when, in 1981, the commune moved to the US. I was among the first to arrive at the ranch the commune had bought in central Oregon. It was during those early days that I was lured into what I thought was a love affair with a much older man. I was only 12 years old; he was 29. However, what I believed to be love was no such thing.
At the time I suffered silently as he repeatedly drew me in with affection and took me to bed only to ignore me for days as I watched him pursue adult women and, in time, my peers. At the same time, other men circled, and eventually I gave in, as sleeping around and being “liberated” was the norm that was modelled to me. As time passed, I felt increasingly worthless and angst ridden, and took my bad feelings to mean I was flawed. We were to be positive, not negative, so I didn’t speak of my pain and confusion.
When the commune collapsed in 1985, we were all flung back into the world unprepared. I was 16, disoriented, broke and unsure of who I was. The trauma of my upbringing haunted me, but I couldn’t yet name it. As the years passed, I came to see it for what it was and came to see how Osho’s teachings tilled the soil for abuse – under the guise of spiritual freedom to boot. It sickened me. I distanced myself from the movement, from the teachings, and forged a life of my own.
Then in 2018 Netflix released Wild Wild Country, a docuseries about the community at the Rajneeshpuram complex. Watching it stirred my heartache and my fury. The series brought Rajneesh back into the public eye – but it only scratched the surface, focusing on the political and criminal scandals in Oregon. What about us children?
Content retrieved from: https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2024/oct/12/abuse-rajneesh-cult-children-communes.
