My yogi husband slept with a young woman – then told me they’d been lovers in a past life

Watching my husband, Arun, disappear to have sex with a woman he had wanted to see as my girlfriend – without feeling the need to hide it from me – should have spelled the end of my marriage.

But according to Arun he was not unfaithful to me. He simply allowed his body to facilitate the reunion of two old souls – one belonging to Angela, our co-worker, and the other to a man named Tao, her husband from a past life, whose spirit my husband could now easily channel.

Not only did I have to accept this, but as a woman seeking spiritual enlightenment, I was meant to be happy that Tao and Angela, a beautiful 26 year old, like my husband then 63 years old, had found each other again .

This sounds bizarre, I know. Twenty years later, that applies to me too. But at the time, I was trapped in an abusive relationship because I fully believed in the idea that Arun was my spiritual guide and leader as much as my husband.

Seduced by a practice that promised inner peace, mental clarity, physical well-being and, above all, greater meaning for my life, I was controlled by a master manipulator posing as my husband and guru.

And so, instead of leaving, I swallowed his lies. I wasn’t gullible and naive, I was an intelligent and successful woman who had fallen for a cunning con artist.

At the time, I was a thirty-year-old graduate of Harvard and INSEAD, a prestigious business school near Paris, earning a nearly six-figure salary at a major tech company. I also ran a yoga school in an upscale Parisian neighborhood, where many of the city’s affluent, educated residents were similarly enamored with Arun.

He presented himself as heir to a long line of yogis from the Himalayas. At our studio he taught group yoga classes, as well as privately trained executives, from whom he charged exorbitant fees of up to 5,000 euros (£4,340). The idea of ​​a long life with inner peace and a healthy body is tempting, and people were and still are willing to pay handsomely for this opportunity.

No one is talking about the potentially dangerous downside of the wellness industry, in which yoga and meditation play a central role. Instead, it has become the modern panacea for the mental and physical ailments brought on by modern life.

But it can be used to exploit vulnerable devotees who turn to it – often young women looking for a sense of meaning in life, as I was when I met Arun.

My mother had introduced me to spiritual pursuits such as meditation at a young age; early formative experiences that predisposed me to what Arun had to offer. And because my father had been largely absent from my life since I was nine, Arun was able to step in and play the nurturing father figure role.

We met in 1995. He was 55 and I was 22, freshly graduated from college and studying in Rishikesh, India, known as the capital of yoga. When Arun appeared one afternoon, sitting completely calm and poised in the foyer of the guest house where I was staying, I was drawn into his energy. He was charming and seductive, and without me even realizing what was happening, he had brought me into his orbit.

In the weeks that followed, Arun’s interest in me grew. When he charged £2,500 for private lessons, I overcame my shock and decided to pay for the privilege of learning from him. And the more time we spent together, the more he enchanted me with his talks about past lives and his ability to channel higher beings.

When I admitted that I loved him three months after we met, he immediately confirmed with a calm and beaming face that I was his wife with whom he had been reunited from a past life.

I believed him and didn’t realize that he had carefully groomed me until I felt completely comfortable and trusted in his presence.

I returned to the US, but traveled back and forth to visit him for two years. When I got a place on an MBA course at INSEAD, he moved to me and we got married.

During this time he showered me with love and attention and praised me for my devotion to him, something he would continue to do throughout the years we remained together. But as soon as we started living together, his controlling side became apparent. He went through long periods of heavy drinking, started huge fights in which he threatened to leave, and spent money like it was nothing, often demanding that I buy him expensive jewelry, including a custom platinum necklace that cost more than £10,000.

He changed from the enlightened and peaceful master I had met in Rishikesh to a volatile and controlling man who alienated me from my friends and family.

When we finally settled in Paris, seven years after we first met, I was well established in my job at the tech company and urged him to open a yoga studio.

Early in our relationship, Arun had introduced me to Tao, a spirit he said he could channel and whom he convinced me was my long-dead brother (even though I’d never had a brother).

He would become this man before my eyes, first lowering his head and then raising it again, his facial expressions and entire demeanor having changed so that he looked like a different person.

I was so captivated by him that when we hired Angela as a massage therapist at the studio, he was able to convince me that she and Tao had been together in a past life. Angela was similarly seduced by Arun’s spiritual personality. Somehow we both fell for the story that he was only with her as Tao.

Even when he blatantly betrayed my trust and openly slept with another woman, I still convinced myself that this man was the key to a healthy, pure, and extraordinary life.

Finally the wake-up call came when I was faced with redundancy at the age of 36. As we built the yoga studio, I always saw my work as a means to an end. But the impending loss of income made me realize how crucial work was for our financial survival. So when I was hired by the company that had bought out my former employer, I threw myself into the work.

That’s how I met Trevor, a colleague, who became a friend. As I began to trust him, I began to tell him about my life in a way I had never had the courage or confidence to do before.

The more Trevor heard my stories and then responded quietly, without drama or judgment, by saying that Arun’s behavior didn’t sound right, the more I realized he was right. When Trevor and I began a romantic relationship, Arun’s hold on me was broken.

I left the marriage in stages – first I moved from our bedroom to the living room. Then, after a few days, Arun seemed to feel that the game was over and offered to return to India. I bought his ticket, said goodbye and filed for divorce. Even after we divorced, he kept asking me for money.

But when I told him he wouldn’t get another cent, I never heard from him again.

Looking back, I see that Arun created a personality and adjusted his teachings to get what he wanted from me: control, money and sex. Presenting himself as a so-called yogi was crucial to his appeal.

If he had approached me as himself, I would have said no. But in his mythical spiritual personality he soared above normal life in a sphere believed to be above judgment, pure and moral.

Initially, Arun haunted my dreams, but since I heard about his death seven years ago, those nightmares gradually stopped.

Ultimately, yoga did not live up to its promises. It didn’t make Arun feel good. The years of discipline didn’t give me the courage to leave him either. I no longer practice yoga or meditate in a formal way.

I find other ways to calm my mind and get my body moving: walking the dogs, exercising without spiritual connotations, talking to friends, caring for other people. It’s the normal things in life that keep me grounded right now.

• As told to Rachel Halliwell. Joelle Tamraz’s memoir, The Secret Practice: Eighteen Years On The Dark Side Of Yoga, is published by Paradise Palm Publishing, £10.99 in paperback and £3.99 in eBook.