For fans and historians of The Beatles, the year 1968 is pivotal: At the height of their popularity - crushed by a grueling tour schedule, haunted by internal conflict and besieged by hordes of screaming fans - the Fab Four dropped out of Western society and sought refuge in the mystic East.

Like thousands of other young people swept up in the hippie movement, the most famous rock group in the world traveled to India to reconnect and refuel.

The three months they spent with their wives and loved ones at the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi's ashram in Rishikesh would propel their music in a powerful new direction. Their experiences in India produced the groundbreaking White Album, as well as significant portions of Abbey Road and Let it Be.

While they were there, the ashram was closed to most of the general public and professional photographers were promptly turned away. But Paul Saltzman -- a footloose 23-year-old who hoped meditation would heal a broken heart -- was there.

The Beatles allowed Saltzman to freely photograph them and connected with him as a fellow traveler on the road to spiritual rebirth. The Beatles in Rishikesh (Viking Studio, 143 pg, $30), is Saltzman's colorful account of this time, complete with never before seen photos, interesting anecdotes and snippets of gossip about the group's doomed relationship with the Maharishi.

Saltzman, who was married to film-maker Deepa Mehta, says the book came out of daughter Devyani's interest in The Beatles.

"One afternoon, late in 1998, she walked into my study while I was e-mailing and asked, 'Dad, didn't you once tell me that you met The Beatles in India in the 'sixties and took some pictures of them?'" the Toronto-based film and television producer, who has won two Emmys, recalls in the introduction. "This book is the result of Devyani's enthusiasm and encouragement..."

The coffee-table sized volume offers conjecture about the origin of songs like "Dear Prudence", "Sexy Sadie" and "The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill". But the real heart of the book, and the likely reason for its publication in the well-saturated market of Beatles biographies, is the 75 color photographs it showcases.

Saltzman's eager young pictures have a professional finesse. Unshaven and kurta-clad, John Lennon and Paul McCartney strum the emerging chords of "Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da". In the final days of their marriage, John and Cynthia Lennon sit stiff-shouldered and expressionless.

Buried in a shoebox for the past 34 years, Saltzman's photos crystallize one of the most important moments in The Beatles' personal and professional lives. Part memoir, part expose, his tangential text mostly fills up space between the poignantly blooming pictures.

It does offer, though, some useful insight into the group's Indian experience. It shows The Beatles, for instance, utterly at ease for the first time in many years. Away from the glare of spotlights and sound mikes, they let down their guard and gallantly admit Saltzman into their circle.

Saltzman writes of his first words with them: "I was walking through the ashram the next morning when I saw John, Paul, George and Ringo, sitting with their partners... Somewhat nervously, I walked over. 'May I join you, I asked?' I asked. 'Sure, mate,' answered John. And Paul said, 'Pull up a chair.' I sat down and didn't know what to say."

As his acquaintance with The Beatles broadens, though, a more-at-ease Saltzman grows increasingly aware of the various quirks in the band. The new dharma bums, for example, approach their spiritual growth as somewhat of a footrace, he says.

"George seemed the most serious about meditation, followed by John," Saltzman observes. "Paul seemed less serious, but he'd had several profound experiences, he said, enjoying the time he dropped away from busy, worldly thoughts. Ringo was the least interested. John did say, though, that there was a friendly competition among the four of them to see who was really getting it best -- the benefits of meditation."

The Beatles also drop, in various degrees, intimate bits of their personal lives. Saltzman writes, for instance, of a conversation with John Lennon that, in retrospect at least, appears to foreshadow the looming end of his marriage.

"I told him about my trip, the heartbreak, and how I felt about meditation. That I'd probably hang around for just a few more days. He picked up a glass of water, and after almost finishing it, said that meditation had been good for him, so far. After a moment, he added, 'Yeah, and love can be pretty tough on us, can't it?' We both sat quietly. It felt like a moment suspended in time ... John and our eyes met, and he smiled and said, almost mischievously, 'But then, eventually, you get another chance, don't you?'"

But perhaps most interestingly, Saltzman pinpoints the eventual souring of the group's relationship with the Maharishi with a sexual betrayal. The trusted guru, who preached stiff celibacy to all his disciples, had sex with a young nurse from California and doesn't deny it to the enraged Beatles.

"John was livid," Saltzman writes. "George was shocked and disbelieving. The meeting wasn't long. John said the Maharishi didn't take it seriously... They stormed out of the Maharishi's bungalow into the bright morning sunlight, went straight to their quarters, and told Mal, Cynthia, and Pattie to get their stuff packed, they were leaving immediately."

Saltzman's text is also liberally sprinkled with less meaningful assorted trivia: Ringo Starr, for instance, arrived in India with a suitcase of baked beans to assuage his delicate English stomach.

All in all, The Beatles in Rishikesh comes off as more than the empty babble of a starry-eyed hanger-on. Saltzman's light text is more than popcorn in places. And the photos alone will make up the purchase price for true Beatles lovers.

(Hannah Crumpet contributed to this story.)

Design: Dominic Xavier

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