WITH THE SAGE OF THE
HOLY HILL
Dilip Kumar Roy
I
This is an extract from Kumbha, pp. 170-176,
published by Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, and reprinted with their permission.
I FIRST heard of Sri Ramana Maharshi while I was a member
of the Yoga Ashram of Sri Aurobindo. I asked Sri Aurobindo
about the Maharshi and he wrote back that he was a Yogi of remarkable strength and attainments and that his tapasya had won glory for India. On another occasion he characterised him as a `Hercules among the Yogis'. So I longed to pay a visit to Ramanasramam, situated at the foot of the hallowed Arunachala Hill.
When I arrived at the small house where the Maharshi
lived, I felt a deep malaise. How could I hope to get peace and inspiration from him if I had failed to get it at the feet of my own Guru, who was surely no less great? Yet I felt sincerely that I had done well in coming to seek inspiration from the great Yogi who was venerated by spiritual aspirants of every category. At the same time, I wondered whether this was the proper frame of mind in which to seek peace from a mighty Illuminate!
Page 213
I entered the room of the great sage in the afternoon. It
was just a bare hall in which I found him reclining on a couch. A handful of devotees were sitting on the floor. Some were meditating, while others were gazing wistfully at the sage, who sat stone still, staring in front at nothing at all, as was his wont. He never spoke unless somebody first spoke to him or asked a question. For fifty years he had been living on this Hill and had felt no inclination to leave it. In the earlier years he had lived in a cave on the Hill for many years in silence. In the Ashram, which had subsequently been built around him by a few of his devotees, he had now been living a singular life, blessing all, but belonging to none, interested in everything but attached to nothing, answering questions but hardly ever asking any.
He gave the impression of Siva, the great God of
compassion, who was there to give but not to ask anything of anybody, living a blissful, free and open life, with no walls of the ego to cabin the summit vision. I had, indeed, read what Paul Brunton had written about him and had heard a lot about his lovable ways from a dear friend of mine, Duraiswami, who had known him for years. Some other devotees had told me that he had been living ever since his abandonment of worldly life in a state of sahaja samadhi (superconscious in the ordinary wakeful consciousness). What I saw with my own eyes impressed me deeply, though I find it far from easy to portray what I saw, or rather experienced. Here was a man who lived like a god, supremely indifferent to all that we worldlings clamour for without cease. Dressed in a bare koupin (loin-cloth) he yet sat ensconced in a grandeur of plenary peace and egoless bliss which we could but speculate upon, yet never fathom. Kings had come to him with all sorts of rich offerings, but in vain; he had blessed them, but never accepted any gifts. He said one day to a disciple with an ironic smile as he pointed at a huge pandal which his devotees were building to honour him at the Golden Jubilee
Page 214
celebrations (1946): "Just fancy, they insist on erecting this for me when all I need is the shade of a tree to sit under."
Modern man may criticise him for his lack of initiative
and argue that humanity has little use for one who lives thus aloof and isolated. But was he isolated — he who radiated peace which hundreds of visitors experienced by just sitting near him in silence? Did not the lineaments of his serene face, his beautiful smile, his tranquil glance, convey to all a message of liberation? Did he not blossom like a flower stemming from the earth, yet alien to all that was earthly? Did not his frail frame embody a strength that was not human, his life attest to an invisible anchorage which made him utterly secure and free from the last vestige of fear? Yes, as he told me later, the Maharshi put a premium on two things: inaccessibility to fear and to flattery, however subtle. Once a snake passed over his body while he lay in his dark cave at night. His friend and attendant (a doctor who related this to me) jumped up as it passed over his chest. "Why, what is the matter?" the Maharshi asked him. "A snake!" he answered. "I know" acquiesced the sage. "It passed over my body previously." "It did?" asked the doctor. "And how did you feel? "Cool" came the rejoinder.
About flattery he told me this story: "A man may go very
far," he said, "but not till he has travelled beyond the reach of all flattery can he be said to have arrived. Listen. There was once a rich man who wanted God. He gave up his family, home, comforts, everything, and repaired to a forest where he practised untold austerities for years till he arrived at the Golden Gate. But alas, the portals did not open to his repeated knocking — he did not know why!
"One day an old friend of his came upon him in the
forest while he was meditating. When he opened his eyes, the friend fell at his feet in an ecstasy of adoration. `Oh blessed one! How great you are, how heroic your austerities and
Page 215
sacrifice! Accept my homage.' The holy man had, indeed, practised all the austerities and made all the sacrifices attributed to him. Nevertheless he was pleased when the other paid him homage. And that was why the Golden Gate had not opened to his knocking."
I heard of many other traits of his supremely lovable
personality, amongst which must be counted his sense of humour and love of laughter. He coveted nothing, but loved to joke freely with those who came to him. One day, while I was sitting near him and some visitors were putting questions to him, a Muslim friend of mine asked: "Tell me, Bhagavan, why is it that God does not answer my prayer even when I petition Him for nothing earthly? I only pray to Him to make me humble and pure and selfless so that I may serve Him as I ought but He simply does not listen. Why doesn't He?"
"Probably because He is afraid that if He did, you wouldn't
pray any more," answered the sage readily, with a merry twinkle in his eye! And we all laughed in chorus.
Many a time he was asked, even challenged, to prove
what he had seen. "Ah!" he would reply placidly. "I will answer that question if you answer mine: who is it that is asking this question?"
"Who? Surely, I — so and so." "I know. But who are you?" "Me? I, I, I." And the Maharshi would laugh. "So you see, you do not even know such a thing as your
own identity, yet you presume to challenge others and their experiences. I would suggest you find out first who is the challenger and then the truth you challenge will be made manifest to you."
True to our great tradition, the Maharshi did not relish
answering merely intellectual questions or the queries of the curious who were content with more wordy answers to words. Again and again, he used to stress that information was not knowledge, and that all true knowledge stemmed from
Page 216
Self-knowledge. So sometimes, when he was asked about the worlds beyond, of the life hereafter, he would simply evade the question. "Why put the cart before the horse?" he was wont to say. "Why this itch to know about the other worlds? Do you know even the crucial and basic things about this one? If not, why not wait till you do before you start delving into the next? Why do you want to know what happens after death? Do you know what is happening before your eyes? Why go to an astrologer to be told what you will be twenty years hence? Do you know — truly know — what you are today this moment?" And so on.
Once the matters came to a head. A disciple of his was
puzzling a good many members of the Ashram, for he was living in perfect bliss in a tiny room, sitting all day on a bare mat, hardly taking the trouble even to eat unless somebody brought him food. Speculation was rife; some thought that he had gone mad; others that he had gone far, while others again said with bated breath that he was living in that superconscious state which the Gita describes as Brahmee sthithi (situated in the Absolute). In the end a regular deputation waited upon the Maharshi who heard them with his usual patience. Then he gave the leader of the deputation a quizzical smile. "You want to know his inner state, do you?" he asked pointedly.
The man fidgeted beneath his scrutiny. "Well, yes. I. . ." "Wait," the Maharshi interjected. "First tell me this: do
you know your own state?"
The other was unnerved: "No, no," he faltered. "Right!" The Maharshi rejoined, in a pleased tone. "First
find out your own state and then you will know his." The whole Ashram enjoyed it, except the leader of course.
This outstanding Yogi and his holy life have exercised a
deep influence upon hundreds of spiritual seekers all over the world, although he had done hardly anything of a spectacular kind to enlist the attention of the multitude.
Page 217
I I
RAMANA WAS SUDDENLY drawn to Arunachala Hill in 1896, at the age of sixteen. With just three rupees in his pocket, he left his home and parents and everything a man holds dear. He did not even know the way, but somehow arrived there with literally just what he wore, trusting entirely to the mercy of his heart's Lord, Arunachala Siva. He arrived at the temple and went straight to the sanctum of the Lord and, with tears coursing down his cheeks, said: "I have come at your call, Lord. Accept me and do with me as you will .'
Thereafter he lived ever immersed in the bliss of samadhi.
My dear friend Duraiswami, who knew him for years as one of his Ashram's intimates, told me this: "Once he was expressing his admiration for the sage's power of concentrating day and night on his sadhana [?], when the other cut in smiling. `Sadhana? Who did sadhana [?]? What did I know of sadhana [?]? I simply came and sat down in the temple or elsewhere in Arunachala and then lost all count of time.'" To me he said the same thing in a slightly different way with his characteristic irony: "People call him by different names, but he came to me with no name or introduction so I know not how to define him. What happened was that my desires and ego left me — how and why I cannot tell — and that I lived thenceforward in the vastness of timeless peace." "Sometimes", he added with a smile, "I stayed with closed eyes and then, when I opened them, people said that I had come out of my blessed meditation. But I never knew the difference between `non-meditation' and meditation, blessed or otherwise. I simply lived a tranquil witness to whatever happened around me, but was never called upon to interfere. I could never feel any urge to do anything except to be, just be. I see that all is done by him and him alone, though we, poor puppets of maya [?], feel ourselves important as the doers, authors
Page 218
and reformers everything! It is the ineradicable ego, the `I-ness' in each of us, which is responsible for the perpetuation of this maya [?] with all its attendant sufferings and disenchantments."
"What then is the remedy?" I asked. "Just be," he answered. "Delve down into That which only
is, for when you achieve this you find `That am I'; there is and can be nothing else than That. When you see this, all the trappings of maya [?] and make-believe fall off, even as the worn-out slough of the snake. So all that you have to do is to get to this I, the real I behind your seeming I, for then you are rid forever of the illusive `I-ness' and all is attained, since you stay thenceforward at one with That which is you; that's all."
"We have to do nothing then?" "Why? You have done the greatest thing, the only thing
that is worth doing, and when you have done this, you may rest assured, all that has to be done will be done through you. The thing is," he added, "not to worry about doing; just be, and you will have done all that is expected of you."
"That is all very well," I demurred, "but who is to show us
how to do this — or rather be, as you put it? Is not a guide, Guru, necessary? Or are you against Guruvad (the Guru principle)?"
"Why should I be against Guruvad?" he smiled. "Some
people evidently need a Guru; let them follow him. I am against nothing except the ego, the `I-ness' which is the root of all evil. Rend this and you land pat in the lap of the one Reality, That, the one solvent of all questions."
"But why then don't you come out to preach this great
message?" I asked, "for most people, you will agree, do not even know there is this `I-ness' to be got rid of."
He gave me again that quizzical smile tinctured with
his characteristic irony. Then he turned grave and asked: "Have you heard of the saying of Vivekananda that if one
Page 219
but thinks a noble, selfless thought, even in a cave, it sets up vibrations throughout the world and does what has to be done, can be done?"
I nodded, "But forgive me if I presume to ask whether it is
being done in a tangible way."
He gave me a quizzical smile. "Listen. A spiritual seeker used to attend religiously the
lectures of a great pulpit orator and feel thrilled by all that he heard from day to day. But after some time he discovered, to his chagrin, that after all that he had heard, he was just where he had been at the start, not an impulse had changed. Then he happened to meet a silent man, a Yogi who said practically nothing; nevertheless, he felt attracted by something in him that he could not define and so went on being near him. After a time he discovered, to his great joy and surprise, that things which had worried him before affected him less and less, till he came to feel a deep peace and a sense of liberation he could not account for. And this grew with the passage of time until at last he became a different man altogether. Now tell me, which of the two would you name as the doer of something `tangible'?"
And this was true. After just being near him for a little while
my gloom of months melted away like mist before sunrise. Nor could I myself "account for" why and how it happened. I only knew — and vividly — that it had happened. I shall never forget that night when, after having meditated at his feet, I felt a sudden release from what had been stifling me for weeks. It was such a delectable experience that I did not feel like going to bed. I pulled out a deck-chair and merely reclined on it under the stars, utterly relaxed. Everything around me seemed to drip peace and harmony; the breeze, the murmuring leaves, the hooting of an owl, a dog barking, the insects screeching… everything deepened my vivid sense of carefree plenitude. And I wrote a poem in the fullness of my heart of which I will give here a few lines:
Page 220
You came in a pauper's garb and stayed to teach
That world what only a beggar could impart
And offered a kingdom we could never reach
By all our science, philosophy and art.
Some day a light shall dawn and then we'll know
What you came to give — a King, incognito!
He left his mortal body in April, 1950, (after having
suffered excruciating physical pain for two long years). One of his arms had become cancerous. The medical men did their best but nothing availed. He died, but with the selfsame radiant smile on his lips. Once the painful wound had to be prodded thoroughly. Declining an anaesthetic he stretched out his arm. His face remained serene — not one groan issued from his lips. The doctor was amazed.
Such was he. No wonder they called him Bhagavan Ramana Maharshi.
The modern man often enough denounces the mystic
as a selfish seeker of personal salvation. There may, indeed, be some sadhus who belong to this category, but the major mystics have never been indifferent to the suffering of others. Sri Ramana Maharshi proved this once again by the great life he lived after his attainment. He was always available, always ready to help with his words — more with his silent spiritual presence. He was the soul of divine compassion, always giving, never asking anything for himself. No man who is selfish can attract such a band of devoted seekers around him. This is not the place to talk about his remarkable devotees but I will end this tribute with a letter from one of his disciples, an Englishman, Major A. W. Chadwick. I was fascinated by his personality and wrote him a letter which I need not quote as it will be readily inferred from his reply, which is dated October11, 1946.
Page 221
Dear Dilip,
It was kind of you to write … I feel diffident in answering
your question as I fear I have made or may make myself appear of some spiritual attainment, a thing to which I have no pretension. I am just a humble seeker, with the same failings and the same difficulties as everybody else. That all paths are extremely difficult there can be no doubt, but how can it be otherwise? The ego which has taken such tremendous pains to establish itself as a seemingly independent and self sufficient entity will fight to the last ditch before it will admit defeat and relinquish its claims. But my motto has been persistence and I think that by that, victory is assured. The Guru of a friend of mine, who passed away some years ago and was undoubtedly a jnani [?], used to tell him that if he desired Self-realization sufficiently he could not even die till he had attained his goal. And in that is our hope.
You ask me how long I had to persevere in solitude before
I attained peace… Surely peace is a thing which grows and is not for the majority attained in a flash once and for all. (I do not speak of Self-realization) The moment I came into the presence of my Guru, eleven years ago, I found peace. My staying here was never premeditated; it was just something which had to be in spite of myself. It was my true home. However the pendulum swings, in time the beats become shorter and shorter until it comes to rest in the Self. To expect anything else is to expect the impossible.
It seems to me that the great thing is to follow one
Guru and one path unwaveringly and the goal is assured. For after all, the goal and the path are the same; the Chinese call both the Way — Tao. But we become disheartened and impatient. These seem to be the greatest obstacles to attainment. If we can only face up to these and go on in spite of everything and everybody then there is absolutely
Page 222
no doubt as to the result. But few of us can! May the Supreme Guru give us the necessary strength!
I seem to have been very prolix and to have preached. I
ask your forgiveness.
Very cordially yours,
A. W. Chadwick
Glory to the Guru who can inspire such love and devotion
in men of this calibre.
Page 223
This is an extract from Kumbha, pp. 170-176,
published by Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, and reprinted with their permission.
I FIRST heard of Sri Ramana Maharshi while I was a member
of the Yoga Ashram of Sri Aurobindo. I asked Sri Aurobindo
about the Maharshi and he wrote back that he was a Yogi of remarkable strength and attainments and that his tapasya had won glory for India. On another occasion he characterised him as a `Hercules among the Yogis'. So I longed to pay a visit to Ramanasramam, situated at the foot of the hallowed Arunachala Hill.
When I arrived at the small house where the Maharshi
lived, I felt a deep malaise. How could I hope to get peace and inspiration from him if I had failed to get it at the feet of my own Guru, who was surely no less great? Yet I felt sincerely that I had done well in coming to seek inspiration from the great Yogi who was venerated by spiritual aspirants of every category. At the same time, I wondered whether this was the proper frame of mind in which to seek peace from a mighty Illuminate!
Page 213
I entered the room of the great sage in the afternoon. It
was just a bare hall in which I found him reclining on a couch. A handful of devotees were sitting on the floor. Some were meditating, while others were gazing wistfully at the sage, who sat stone still, staring in front at nothing at all, as was his wont. He never spoke unless somebody first spoke to him or asked a question. For fifty years he had been living on this Hill and had felt no inclination to leave it. In the earlier years he had lived in a cave on the Hill for many years in silence. In the Ashram, which had subsequently been built around him by a few of his devotees, he had now been living a singular life, blessing all, but belonging to none, interested in everything but attached to nothing, answering questions but hardly ever asking any.
He gave the impression of Siva, the great God of
compassion, who was there to give but not to ask anything of anybody, living a blissful, free and open life, with no walls of the ego to cabin the summit vision. I had, indeed, read what Paul Brunton had written about him and had heard a lot about his lovable ways from a dear friend of mine, Duraiswami, who had known him for years. Some other devotees had told me that he had been living ever since his abandonment of worldly life in a state of sahaja samadhi (superconscious in the ordinary wakeful consciousness). What I saw with my own eyes impressed me deeply, though I find it far from easy to portray what I saw, or rather experienced. Here was a man who lived like a god, supremely indifferent to all that we worldlings clamour for without cease. Dressed in a bare koupin (loin-cloth) he yet sat ensconced in a grandeur of plenary peace and egoless bliss which we could but speculate upon, yet never fathom. Kings had come to him with all sorts of rich offerings, but in vain; he had blessed them, but never accepted any gifts. He said one day to a disciple with an ironic smile as he pointed at a huge pandal which his devotees were building to honour him at the Golden Jubilee
Page 214
celebrations (1946): "Just fancy, they insist on erecting this for me when all I need is the shade of a tree to sit under."
Modern man may criticise him for his lack of initiative
and argue that humanity has little use for one who lives thus aloof and isolated. But was he isolated — he who radiated peace which hundreds of visitors experienced by just sitting near him in silence? Did not the lineaments of his serene face, his beautiful smile, his tranquil glance, convey to all a message of liberation? Did he not blossom like a flower stemming from the earth, yet alien to all that was earthly? Did not his frail frame embody a strength that was not human, his life attest to an invisible anchorage which made him utterly secure and free from the last vestige of fear? Yes, as he told me later, the Maharshi put a premium on two things: inaccessibility to fear and to flattery, however subtle. Once a snake passed over his body while he lay in his dark cave at night. His friend and attendant (a doctor who related this to me) jumped up as it passed over his chest. "Why, what is the matter?" the Maharshi asked him. "A snake!" he answered. "I know" acquiesced the sage. "It passed over my body previously." "It did?" asked the doctor. "And how did you feel? "Cool" came the rejoinder.
About flattery he told me this story: "A man may go very
far," he said, "but not till he has travelled beyond the reach of all flattery can he be said to have arrived. Listen. There was once a rich man who wanted God. He gave up his family, home, comforts, everything, and repaired to a forest where he practised untold austerities for years till he arrived at the Golden Gate. But alas, the portals did not open to his repeated knocking — he did not know why!
"One day an old friend of his came upon him in the
forest while he was meditating. When he opened his eyes, the friend fell at his feet in an ecstasy of adoration. `Oh blessed one! How great you are, how heroic your austerities and
Page 215
sacrifice! Accept my homage.' The holy man had, indeed, practised all the austerities and made all the sacrifices attributed to him. Nevertheless he was pleased when the other paid him homage. And that was why the Golden Gate had not opened to his knocking."
I heard of many other traits of his supremely lovable
personality, amongst which must be counted his sense of humour and love of laughter. He coveted nothing, but loved to joke freely with those who came to him. One day, while I was sitting near him and some visitors were putting questions to him, a Muslim friend of mine asked: "Tell me, Bhagavan, why is it that God does not answer my prayer even when I petition Him for nothing earthly? I only pray to Him to make me humble and pure and selfless so that I may serve Him as I ought but He simply does not listen. Why doesn't He?"
"Probably because He is afraid that if He did, you wouldn't
pray any more," answered the sage readily, with a merry twinkle in his eye! And we all laughed in chorus.
Many a time he was asked, even challenged, to prove
what he had seen. "Ah!" he would reply placidly. "I will answer that question if you answer mine: who is it that is asking this question?"
"Who? Surely, I — so and so." "I know. But who are you?" "Me? I, I, I." And the Maharshi would laugh. "So you see, you do not even know such a thing as your
own identity, yet you presume to challenge others and their experiences. I would suggest you find out first who is the challenger and then the truth you challenge will be made manifest to you."
True to our great tradition, the Maharshi did not relish
answering merely intellectual questions or the queries of the curious who were content with more wordy answers to words. Again and again, he used to stress that information was not knowledge, and that all true knowledge stemmed from
Page 216
Self-knowledge. So sometimes, when he was asked about the worlds beyond, of the life hereafter, he would simply evade the question. "Why put the cart before the horse?" he was wont to say. "Why this itch to know about the other worlds? Do you know even the crucial and basic things about this one? If not, why not wait till you do before you start delving into the next? Why do you want to know what happens after death? Do you know what is happening before your eyes? Why go to an astrologer to be told what you will be twenty years hence? Do you know — truly know — what you are today this moment?" And so on.
Once the matters came to a head. A disciple of his was
puzzling a good many members of the Ashram, for he was living in perfect bliss in a tiny room, sitting all day on a bare mat, hardly taking the trouble even to eat unless somebody brought him food. Speculation was rife; some thought that he had gone mad; others that he had gone far, while others again said with bated breath that he was living in that superconscious state which the Gita describes as Brahmee sthithi (situated in the Absolute). In the end a regular deputation waited upon the Maharshi who heard them with his usual patience. Then he gave the leader of the deputation a quizzical smile. "You want to know his inner state, do you?" he asked pointedly.
The man fidgeted beneath his scrutiny. "Well, yes. I. . ." "Wait," the Maharshi interjected. "First tell me this: do
you know your own state?"
The other was unnerved: "No, no," he faltered. "Right!" The Maharshi rejoined, in a pleased tone. "First
find out your own state and then you will know his." The whole Ashram enjoyed it, except the leader of course.
This outstanding Yogi and his holy life have exercised a
deep influence upon hundreds of spiritual seekers all over the world, although he had done hardly anything of a spectacular kind to enlist the attention of the multitude.
Page 217
I I
RAMANA WAS SUDDENLY drawn to Arunachala Hill in 1896, at the age of sixteen. With just three rupees in his pocket, he left his home and parents and everything a man holds dear. He did not even know the way, but somehow arrived there with literally just what he wore, trusting entirely to the mercy of his heart's Lord, Arunachala Siva. He arrived at the temple and went straight to the sanctum of the Lord and, with tears coursing down his cheeks, said: "I have come at your call, Lord. Accept me and do with me as you will .'
Thereafter he lived ever immersed in the bliss of samadhi.
My dear friend Duraiswami, who knew him for years as one of his Ashram's intimates, told me this: "Once he was expressing his admiration for the sage's power of concentrating day and night on his sadhana [?], when the other cut in smiling. `Sadhana? Who did sadhana [?]? What did I know of sadhana [?]? I simply came and sat down in the temple or elsewhere in Arunachala and then lost all count of time.'" To me he said the same thing in a slightly different way with his characteristic irony: "People call him by different names, but he came to me with no name or introduction so I know not how to define him. What happened was that my desires and ego left me — how and why I cannot tell — and that I lived thenceforward in the vastness of timeless peace." "Sometimes", he added with a smile, "I stayed with closed eyes and then, when I opened them, people said that I had come out of my blessed meditation. But I never knew the difference between `non-meditation' and meditation, blessed or otherwise. I simply lived a tranquil witness to whatever happened around me, but was never called upon to interfere. I could never feel any urge to do anything except to be, just be. I see that all is done by him and him alone, though we, poor puppets of maya [?], feel ourselves important as the doers, authors
Page 218
and reformers everything! It is the ineradicable ego, the `I-ness' in each of us, which is responsible for the perpetuation of this maya [?] with all its attendant sufferings and disenchantments."
"What then is the remedy?" I asked. "Just be," he answered. "Delve down into That which only
is, for when you achieve this you find `That am I'; there is and can be nothing else than That. When you see this, all the trappings of maya [?] and make-believe fall off, even as the worn-out slough of the snake. So all that you have to do is to get to this I, the real I behind your seeming I, for then you are rid forever of the illusive `I-ness' and all is attained, since you stay thenceforward at one with That which is you; that's all."
"We have to do nothing then?" "Why? You have done the greatest thing, the only thing
that is worth doing, and when you have done this, you may rest assured, all that has to be done will be done through you. The thing is," he added, "not to worry about doing; just be, and you will have done all that is expected of you."
"That is all very well," I demurred, "but who is to show us
how to do this — or rather be, as you put it? Is not a guide, Guru, necessary? Or are you against Guruvad (the Guru principle)?"
"Why should I be against Guruvad?" he smiled. "Some
people evidently need a Guru; let them follow him. I am against nothing except the ego, the `I-ness' which is the root of all evil. Rend this and you land pat in the lap of the one Reality, That, the one solvent of all questions."
"But why then don't you come out to preach this great
message?" I asked, "for most people, you will agree, do not even know there is this `I-ness' to be got rid of."
He gave me again that quizzical smile tinctured with
his characteristic irony. Then he turned grave and asked: "Have you heard of the saying of Vivekananda that if one
Page 219
but thinks a noble, selfless thought, even in a cave, it sets up vibrations throughout the world and does what has to be done, can be done?"
I nodded, "But forgive me if I presume to ask whether it is
being done in a tangible way."
He gave me a quizzical smile. "Listen. A spiritual seeker used to attend religiously the
lectures of a great pulpit orator and feel thrilled by all that he heard from day to day. But after some time he discovered, to his chagrin, that after all that he had heard, he was just where he had been at the start, not an impulse had changed. Then he happened to meet a silent man, a Yogi who said practically nothing; nevertheless, he felt attracted by something in him that he could not define and so went on being near him. After a time he discovered, to his great joy and surprise, that things which had worried him before affected him less and less, till he came to feel a deep peace and a sense of liberation he could not account for. And this grew with the passage of time until at last he became a different man altogether. Now tell me, which of the two would you name as the doer of something `tangible'?"
And this was true. After just being near him for a little while
my gloom of months melted away like mist before sunrise. Nor could I myself "account for" why and how it happened. I only knew — and vividly — that it had happened. I shall never forget that night when, after having meditated at his feet, I felt a sudden release from what had been stifling me for weeks. It was such a delectable experience that I did not feel like going to bed. I pulled out a deck-chair and merely reclined on it under the stars, utterly relaxed. Everything around me seemed to drip peace and harmony; the breeze, the murmuring leaves, the hooting of an owl, a dog barking, the insects screeching… everything deepened my vivid sense of carefree plenitude. And I wrote a poem in the fullness of my heart of which I will give here a few lines:
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You came in a pauper's garb and stayed to teach
That world what only a beggar could impart
And offered a kingdom we could never reach
By all our science, philosophy and art.
Some day a light shall dawn and then we'll know
What you came to give — a King, incognito!
He left his mortal body in April, 1950, (after having
suffered excruciating physical pain for two long years). One of his arms had become cancerous. The medical men did their best but nothing availed. He died, but with the selfsame radiant smile on his lips. Once the painful wound had to be prodded thoroughly. Declining an anaesthetic he stretched out his arm. His face remained serene — not one groan issued from his lips. The doctor was amazed.
Such was he. No wonder they called him Bhagavan Ramana Maharshi.
The modern man often enough denounces the mystic
as a selfish seeker of personal salvation. There may, indeed, be some sadhus who belong to this category, but the major mystics have never been indifferent to the suffering of others. Sri Ramana Maharshi proved this once again by the great life he lived after his attainment. He was always available, always ready to help with his words — more with his silent spiritual presence. He was the soul of divine compassion, always giving, never asking anything for himself. No man who is selfish can attract such a band of devoted seekers around him. This is not the place to talk about his remarkable devotees but I will end this tribute with a letter from one of his disciples, an Englishman, Major A. W. Chadwick. I was fascinated by his personality and wrote him a letter which I need not quote as it will be readily inferred from his reply, which is dated October11, 1946.
Page 221
Dear Dilip,
It was kind of you to write … I feel diffident in answering
your question as I fear I have made or may make myself appear of some spiritual attainment, a thing to which I have no pretension. I am just a humble seeker, with the same failings and the same difficulties as everybody else. That all paths are extremely difficult there can be no doubt, but how can it be otherwise? The ego which has taken such tremendous pains to establish itself as a seemingly independent and self sufficient entity will fight to the last ditch before it will admit defeat and relinquish its claims. But my motto has been persistence and I think that by that, victory is assured. The Guru of a friend of mine, who passed away some years ago and was undoubtedly a jnani [?], used to tell him that if he desired Self-realization sufficiently he could not even die till he had attained his goal. And in that is our hope.
You ask me how long I had to persevere in solitude before
I attained peace… Surely peace is a thing which grows and is not for the majority attained in a flash once and for all. (I do not speak of Self-realization) The moment I came into the presence of my Guru, eleven years ago, I found peace. My staying here was never premeditated; it was just something which had to be in spite of myself. It was my true home. However the pendulum swings, in time the beats become shorter and shorter until it comes to rest in the Self. To expect anything else is to expect the impossible.
It seems to me that the great thing is to follow one
Guru and one path unwaveringly and the goal is assured. For after all, the goal and the path are the same; the Chinese call both the Way — Tao. But we become disheartened and impatient. These seem to be the greatest obstacles to attainment. If we can only face up to these and go on in spite of everything and everybody then there is absolutely
Page 222
no doubt as to the result. But few of us can! May the Supreme Guru give us the necessary strength!
I seem to have been very prolix and to have preached. I
ask your forgiveness.
Very cordially yours,
A. W. Chadwick
Glory to the Guru who can inspire such love and devotion
in men of this calibre.
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RAMANA WAS SUDDENLY drawn to Arunachala Hill in 1896, at the age of sixteen. With just three rupees in his pocket, he left his home and parents and everything a man holds dear. He did not even know the way, but somehow arrived there with literally just what he wore, trusting entirely to the mercy of his heart's Lord, Arunachala Siva. He arrived at the temple and went straight to the sanctum of the Lord and, with tears coursing down his cheeks, said: "I have come at your call, Lord. Accept me and do with me as you will .'
Thereafter he lived ever immersed in the bliss of samadhi.
My dear friend Duraiswami, who knew him for years as one of his Ashram's intimates, told me this: "Once he was expressing his admiration for the sage's power of concentrating day and night on his sadhana [?], when the other cut in smiling. `Sadhana? Who did sadhana [?]? What did I know of sadhana [?]? I simply came and sat down in the temple or elsewhere in Arunachala and then lost all count of time.'" To me he said the same thing in a slightly different way with his characteristic irony: "People call him by different names, but he came to me with no name or introduction so I know not how to define him. What happened was that my desires and ego left me — how and why I cannot tell — and that I lived thenceforward in the vastness of timeless peace." "Sometimes", he added with a smile, "I stayed with closed eyes and then, when I opened them, people said that I had come out of my blessed meditation. But I never knew the difference between `non-meditation' and meditation, blessed or otherwise. I simply lived a tranquil witness to whatever happened around me, but was never called upon to interfere. I could never feel any urge to do anything except to be, just be. I see that all is done by him and him alone, though we, poor puppets of maya [?], feel ourselves important as the doers, authors
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and reformers everything! It is the ineradicable ego, the `I-ness' in each of us, which is responsible for the perpetuation of this maya [?] with all its attendant sufferings and disenchantments."
"What then is the remedy?" I asked. "Just be," he answered. "Delve down into That which only
is, for when you achieve this you find `That am I'; there is and can be nothing else than That. When you see this, all the trappings of maya [?] and make-believe fall off, even as the worn-out slough of the snake. So all that you have to do is to get to this I, the real I behind your seeming I, for then you are rid forever of the illusive `I-ness' and all is attained, since you stay thenceforward at one with That which is you; that's all."
"We have to do nothing then?" "Why? You have done the greatest thing, the only thing
that is worth doing, and when you have done this, you may rest assured, all that has to be done will be done through you. The thing is," he added, "not to worry about doing; just be, and you will have done all that is expected of you."
"That is all very well," I demurred, "but who is to show us
how to do this — or rather be, as you put it? Is not a guide, Guru, necessary? Or are you against Guruvad (the Guru principle)?"
"Why should I be against Guruvad?" he smiled. "Some
people evidently need a Guru; let them follow him. I am against nothing except the ego, the `I-ness' which is the root of all evil. Rend this and you land pat in the lap of the one Reality, That, the one solvent of all questions."
"But why then don't you come out to preach this great
message?" I asked, "for most people, you will agree, do not even know there is this `I-ness' to be got rid of."
He gave me again that quizzical smile tinctured with
his characteristic irony. Then he turned grave and asked: "Have you heard of the saying of Vivekananda that if one
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but thinks a noble, selfless thought, even in a cave, it sets up vibrations throughout the world and does what has to be done, can be done?"
I nodded, "But forgive me if I presume to ask whether it is
being done in a tangible way."
He gave me a quizzical smile. "Listen. A spiritual seeker used to attend religiously the
lectures of a great pulpit orator and feel thrilled by all that he heard from day to day. But after some time he discovered, to his chagrin, that after all that he had heard, he was just where he had been at the start, not an impulse had changed. Then he happened to meet a silent man, a Yogi who said practically nothing; nevertheless, he felt attracted by something in him that he could not define and so went on being near him. After a time he discovered, to his great joy and surprise, that things which had worried him before affected him less and less, till he came to feel a deep peace and a sense of liberation he could not account for. And this grew with the passage of time until at last he became a different man altogether. Now tell me, which of the two would you name as the doer of something `tangible'?"
And this was true. After just being near him for a little while
my gloom of months melted away like mist before sunrise. Nor could I myself "account for" why and how it happened. I only knew — and vividly — that it had happened. I shall never forget that night when, after having meditated at his feet, I felt a sudden release from what had been stifling me for weeks. It was such a delectable experience that I did not feel like going to bed. I pulled out a deck-chair and merely reclined on it under the stars, utterly relaxed. Everything around me seemed to drip peace and harmony; the breeze, the murmuring leaves, the hooting of an owl, a dog barking, the insects screeching… everything deepened my vivid sense of carefree plenitude. And I wrote a poem in the fullness of my heart of which I will give here a few lines:
Page 220
You came in a pauper's garb and stayed to teach
That world what only a beggar could impart
And offered a kingdom we could never reach
By all our science, philosophy and art.
Some day a light shall dawn and then we'll know
What you came to give — a King, incognito!
suffered excruciating physical pain for two long years). One of his arms had become cancerous. The medical men did their best but nothing availed. He died, but with the selfsame radiant smile on his lips. Once the painful wound had to be prodded thoroughly. Declining an anaesthetic he stretched out his arm. His face remained serene — not one groan issued from his lips. The doctor was amazed.
Such was he. No wonder they called him Bhagavan Ramana Maharshi.
The modern man often enough denounces the mystic
as a selfish seeker of personal salvation. There may, indeed, be some sadhus who belong to this category, but the major mystics have never been indifferent to the suffering of others. Sri Ramana Maharshi proved this once again by the great life he lived after his attainment. He was always available, always ready to help with his words — more with his silent spiritual presence. He was the soul of divine compassion, always giving, never asking anything for himself. No man who is selfish can attract such a band of devoted seekers around him. This is not the place to talk about his remarkable devotees but I will end this tribute with a letter from one of his disciples, an Englishman, Major A. W. Chadwick. I was fascinated by his personality and wrote him a letter which I need not quote as it will be readily inferred from his reply, which is dated October11, 1946.
Page 221
Dear Dilip,
It was kind of you to write … I feel diffident in answering
your question as I fear I have made or may make myself appear of some spiritual attainment, a thing to which I have no pretension. I am just a humble seeker, with the same failings and the same difficulties as everybody else. That all paths are extremely difficult there can be no doubt, but how can it be otherwise? The ego which has taken such tremendous pains to establish itself as a seemingly independent and self sufficient entity will fight to the last ditch before it will admit defeat and relinquish its claims. But my motto has been persistence and I think that by that, victory is assured. The Guru of a friend of mine, who passed away some years ago and was undoubtedly a jnani [?], used to tell him that if he desired Self-realization sufficiently he could not even die till he had attained his goal. And in that is our hope.
You ask me how long I had to persevere in solitude before
I attained peace… Surely peace is a thing which grows and is not for the majority attained in a flash once and for all. (I do not speak of Self-realization) The moment I came into the presence of my Guru, eleven years ago, I found peace. My staying here was never premeditated; it was just something which had to be in spite of myself. It was my true home. However the pendulum swings, in time the beats become shorter and shorter until it comes to rest in the Self. To expect anything else is to expect the impossible.
It seems to me that the great thing is to follow one
Guru and one path unwaveringly and the goal is assured. For after all, the goal and the path are the same; the Chinese call both the Way — Tao. But we become disheartened and impatient. These seem to be the greatest obstacles to attainment. If we can only face up to these and go on in spite of everything and everybody then there is absolutely
Page 222
no doubt as to the result. But few of us can! May the Supreme Guru give us the necessary strength!
I seem to have been very prolix and to have preached. I
ask your forgiveness.
Very cordially yours,
A. W. Chadwick
Glory to the Guru who can inspire such love and devotion
in men of this calibre.
Page 223