I
Arthur Osborne
ONCE AGAIN PEOPLE throng together from all partsof India for the jayanti of Bhagavan Sri Ramana Maharshi
at Tiruvannamalai, at the foot of the sacred mountain of
Arunachala. Men and women, young and old, from the town
dweller in coat and trousers, to the old- world type of sadhu, all
alike irrespective of wealth and caste and from beyond India
also. America, France, England, Holland, Poland, Iraq, Ceylon,
all are represented. The Maharshi, tall, white-haired, golden-
hued, frail now beyond his years, goes through his daily routine
unperturbed, unselfconscious because completely Self-conscious.
Being unperturbed does not mean being indifferent. Never was
a face so alive, so responsive. From the rocklike gravity of
samadhi to free laughter or amused smile; the gracious
recognition of a devotee drawn here again, a smile, a look of
compassionate understanding that enters the heart and makes
an impression never to be forgotten. Nevertheless, many are
puzzled about the Maharshi.
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They ask, is he always in samadhi? Is it true that he will
not answer questions? Will he give advice? What kind of sadhana [?]
does he enjoin? Is it any use for ordinary people to go there? I
will try to answer these questions as well as I can.
The supreme and final state of samadhi is Sahaja samadhi
which does not imply any trance or any oblivion to what we
ignorant ones call the `outer world'. There is no going backward
and forward between the trance state and the mental state, the
inner and the outer. His consciousness embraced both constantly
without distinction and without effort. That is why the Maharshi
seems so natural, so simple and human in his ways, why he
laughs and talks freely and shows interest in all that goes on
around him. He is gracious to all, responds to all. There is no
aloofness, except the indefinable grandeur, the awe that a devotee
feels in his heart.
He does not expound doctrine unless asked, but when
asked, he answers all sincere questions graciously and often at
length. The widespread idea that he will not answer questions
perhaps comes from his own saying that he teaches in silence.
But that only means that the real teaching is the silent influence
on the heart of the seeker. The doubts of the mind can take
shape in words but that is not the essential teaching because,
however much a man may argue, he is not really to be convinced
in his mind but only in his heart, and that teaching is silent.
Indeed, it has happened to many, as Paul Brunton relates, that
when they sat silent before the Maharshi such peace flooded
their heart that the mind's doubts also disappeared and they
found they had no questions to ask.
In any case, the kind of sadhana enjoined by the Maharshi
requires little philosophy. It is the pure doctrine of Advaita.
This is the most direct spiritual path and is generally referred to
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in books as the path of intellect. It is a peculiar use of the word
intellect and misleads many. It does not mean that there must
be more attention given to philosophy, but only that there must
be understanding of the one simple, central truth of Advaita,
that the Self alone is, and that all that is real in you is the Self,
Atma, and is universal. Therefore, the Maharshi does not answer
questions about what you were before you were born or what
you will be after you die. All such philosophy is brushed aside
and he turns you from such mental speculation to the practical
work of Self-enquiry `Who am I??' When asked about life after
death, he has said, "Why worry about what you will be when
you die? First find out what you are now." Probably
commentators will arise who will call this `agnosticism' just as
some have called Buddha an agnostic or atheist, but it is not. It
is simply a practical reminder that the Self not only was or will
be, but is and that if the apparent separateness of this life is an
illusion, that of the next life is also, and for the jnani [?] who abides
in truth, in the Self, there is neither past nor future, neither
birth nor death, neither this life nor the next. The body may
change, but the consciousness of Self is immutable.
In order to realise universality, it is necessary to try to give
up the thought `I am this' or `I am that' and think only `I am'.
That is why the Maharshi does not advise people to change their
conditions of life or work. If he advised them to give up their
work or their family and retire into solitude it would only be
exchanging the thought `I am a house-holder' for `I am a sadhu'
and both are equally wrong, since it is necessary to remember
only `I am'. It is the mind that must be overcome, and that can
be done as well in the world as in the jungle. If a man's work
distracts him from sadhana [?], the cure is not to give it up (because
even if he does other thoughts will distract him) but to ask himself
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constantly `Who am l?' `Who is doing this work?', until he acquires
detachment towards his life just like the work of the bank cashier
who receives and pays out lakhs of rupees efficiently and without
emotion because he is not the owner and the sums do not affect
him. It means playing one's part in life with the same consciousness
and indifference to the outcome as the actor who knows that he
himself is not affected whether he has to play Caesar who is stabbed
or Brutus who stabs.
Many will say that this is too hard. Certainly it is harder to
control the mind than the body. To fast or remain celibate is
much easier than to keep your mind off food or women. But if
the way is hard, the blessing and support of the presence of
Bhagavan on earth is great. If a man says that this sadhana [?] is
beyond his power, he is quite right! If he says that it is beyond
the power of Bhagavan to enable him to follow it, he is wrong.
Some may also say that it is a cold and mental way, but it is not
really. It is not a sadhana [?] of the mind but of the heart. The
mind may wander and argue, the heart can perceive the truth
of oneness and must hold grimly to it until the wandering mind
has been subdued. But how can one explain the conviction that
awakens in the heart and the remembrance that stays there from
sitting in the presence of the Maharshi? His eyes can destroy
doubt and implant the seed of life. The memory is in the heart,
not the mind. It must be experienced to be understood.
Not all who go to the Maharshi are intellectuals. All sincere
devotees enjoy his grace. Sometimes philosophers have gone
there and drifted away and simple folk with love in their heart
have remained. Here, though never in the material world, the
saying is made good `to each according to his needs'. You can
expect such devotees to tell you why they go there only when
the lover can tell why he loves and the penitent why he worships.
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