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This blog is expression of joy, of being in love with Sadhguru. Please Check www.ishafoundation.org for details. Enjoy the Spiritual Music Jukebox with over 200+ musicals. My email id : Fidarose.isha@gmail.com. Suggestions and Feedbacks are Welcome.
I shall close my physical eyes and dismiss the temptation of matter. I shall peer through the darkness of silence until my eyes of relativity open into the one inner eye of light. When my two eyes of good and evil become single, and behold only the divine goodness of God in everything, then I shall find my body, mind, and soul filled with His omnipresent light.
This week on Mystic Chants, we bring to you the next chant in the Vairagya series – the Guru Paduka Stotram. This is a very powerful rendition of a well-known chant that glorifies the ‘sandals of the Guru’, which are symbolically represented as ‘the boat to help cross the endless ocean of life.’ This chant will enable those who listen to become receptive to the Guru’s Grace.
If grace is not available to you or you are not available to grace, it does not matter how much money you have, how much wealth you have, whatever nonsense you have, you will not live a beautiful life. A Guru’s grace is not some airy thing that you imagine. It is a very physical presence. It’s as physical as the breeze that you feel. It’s as physical as the sunlight.
What you refer to as the Guru is just a certain energy, a certain possibility. It is not the person. A certain person has only become a representative of that energy and that space. If you have to see, it is light that you need, not the light bulb. But right now that particular light bulb happens to be the source of light. So you tend to think “I cannot exist without the light bulb.” On one level it is true. But the nature of the Guru is not limited to time and space. So it is not because you sit next to the light bulb you get the maximum light. You could be a thousand miles away and you may receive more grace than the person who is right now sitting next to that person.
Success will not come to you without grace. Somehow, one way or the other you have to learn to be receptive to grace. Just your mental state may make you receptive, the way you keep your body may make you receptive, the way you keep your emotions may make you receptive or you have more complex methods, you understand the mechanics of how it works and you become receptive. But without grace there will be no success. You maybe brilliant but still you will be a failure. You may be immensely capable still you will be a failure.
But a moment of grace, and suddenly you will see everything will be successful. For you to be peaceful, for you to be happy, you can do it from within. If you know how to keep your body and your mind, you can do these things. But being successful in what you’re doing will not happen without grace. Without the lubricant of grace your machine will not go too far. Everything will be an uphill task in your life. Most human beings do this to themselves because they are so full of themselves. They will not become available to grace. Everything in their life is hard work – education is hard work, going to work is hard work, marriage is one big hard work. But if you become very receptive to grace, you find everything is effortless because you are now a well-lubricated being.
For the free download of the Guru Paduka Stotram, please visit the Sounds of Isha website, here. As a part of the Mystic Chants series, we will be releasing the rest of the Vairagya chants, one every week for free. To support our efforts, you could also purchase the entire album online here. Stay tuned to this space for more.
The Nirvana Shatakam is towards this – you don’t want to be either this or that. If you don’t want to be this nor that, then what do you want to be? Your mind cannot understand this because your mind always wants to be something. If I say, “I don’t want to be this; I don’t want to be that,” you would think, “Oh something super!” Not super. “Oh, so emptiness?” Not emptiness. “Nothingness?” Not nothingness.
Sadhguru has mentioned that listening to the Vairagya chants for extended periods of time has certain benefits. Along with 10 minute version, we have made available a 1-hour version of the Nirvana Shatakam at the Sounds of Isha website, here.
As a part of the Mystic Chants series, we will be releasing the rest of the Vairagya chants, one every week for free. To support our efforts, you could also purchase the entire album online here. Stay tuned to this space for more.
When Bhagavan moved to Skandashram, Perumal Swami also went along with the others. Among the many attendants that gathered in the Ashram, there was one Yazhpani from Sri Lanka. (Sri Lanka was known as Yazhpanam. He was called Yazhpani.) He was a scrupulously clean person. He would sweep Skandashram daily and keep everything spotless. His reputation was equally spotless; whenever Bhagavan returned to the Ashram and leaves were scattered about, he would ask, ―Is Yazhpani not here?
Once, Yazhpani spread a paste of cow dung on the rough, soft earth of Skandashram, to make the ground smoother and harder. When Perumal Swami, who was somewhat like the manager of Skandashram, came and saw it while it was still wet and slippery, he became livid and shouted,
Yazhpani was a very sincere devotee of Bhagavan. He could not leave Bhagavan, but also wanted to obey the orders of the manager. Being a clever man, he tried to find a way out. There was a tall coconut tree inside Skandashram that protruded outside the Ashram grounds. Quickly he got onto the tree, climbed to the top of it, and stayed there. Now he was technically 'out' of the Ashram without leaving it! Everyone pleaded with him to come down, but he refused. At lunch, Bhagavan noticed that Yazhpani was missing. The other devotees then related what had happened.
Bhagavan got up, went toward the coconut tree and gently said, "Yazhpani, you may come and share the food."
Another day, Bhagavan was heard saying, "I had a notebook, in which I had written verses. A person from Uttarkasi took it, but has not returned it. It is several months now.''
Yazhpani disappeared for many days. He went to Uttarkasi, found the particular sadhu and fetched the notebook. He came back one day and presented it to Bhagavan. Bhagavan was very happy. Yazhpani told the other devotees that it had taken him several days, without a minute‘s rest, to fulfill the guru‘s need. That was the one-pointed devotion he had.
When another devotee asked, how Bhagavan felt when snakes crawled over his body, he replied laughingly, “Cool and soft.” - Bhagavan Ramana
Snakes were Bhagavan’s companions since the days on the hill. Bhagavan and snakes respected each other. They were the fellow lodgers in the caves on the hill. Bhagavan used to say, “We have come to their residence and we have no right to disturb or trouble them. They do not harm us.”
Bhagavan was completely at home with the snakes and other reptiles. They also had absolutely no fear of Bhagavan.
It is said that Sadhus extend their protection to all beings. This applied to Bhagavan who protected even poisonous creatures. He was stung by deadly scorpions at least on three occasions but nothing happened to him.
Once, a devotee wanted to know from Bhagavan whether it was true that he was friendly with snakes while living on the mountain. Bhagavan replied, “Yes, it is true. One particular snake crawled over my body. It was very friendly snake. At its touch my body used to feel as though it was tickled. The snake used to come and go whenever it liked, on it’s own accord.”
Dr. Sreenivas Rao, the Ashram doctor asked Bhagavan whether a snake had crept over his body. Bhagavan replied. “Yes, snakes raise their hood and look into your eyes. They seem to understand that they need not be afraid of me and then pass over me. It did not strike me either that I should do anything to it.”
When another devotee asked, how Bhagavan felt when snakes crawled over his body, he replied laughingly, “Cool and soft.”
Once, a snake crept into Skandasramam. Bhagavan’s mother was frightened when she saw the approaching cobra. But Bhagavan began walking towards the snake very calmly. As he did so, the snake began to withdraw and moved out. It withdrew into a crevice in the rocks. Bhagavan followed the snake to the crevice. The passage in the crevice ended against a rock wall. Being unable to escape, the snake all of a sudden turned towards Bhagavan and raised it’s hood and looked steadily at Bhagavan who in turn returned it’s gaze. The game of mutual hypnotizing went on for some time. The snake, presumably grasping that Bhagavan was harmless uncoiled and approached Bhagavan confidently. It almost touched his feet, and later slithered away. The same snake would often visit Skandasramam for Bhagavan’s ‘darshan’ even when he was amidst visitors. The snake would occasionally try to climb on Bhagavan, but he would not encourage it. There were two peacocks in the Ashram. When they danced, quite surprisingly this snake would also join them in their dance. The peacocks never hurt this snake.
There was another snake which would come to Bhagavan, go round him in Pradakshina three times. Bhagavan would say, “Go away. Visitors come here for darshan. Seeing you they will be frightened. Please go away.” And the snake would slither away!
At Skandasramam a peacock would follow Bhagavan everywhere. One day a huge black cobra appeared in the ashram and the peacock attacked it fiercely. The cobra spread its hood and the two natural enemies were poised to fight to death. When Bhagavan saw this, he understood the gravity of the situation. Bhagavan went near the cobra and said softly, “Why did you come here? That peacock will kill you. Better go away at once.” The cobra immediately lowered its hood and crawled away.
One morning, in December 1945, Chinnaswami and others saw a snake crawling near Bhagavan’s hall. People started shouting outside, “What kind of a snake is it? Beat it! Beat it!” When Bhagavan heard the sound of the beating of the snake he cried out, “Who is beating it?” Apparently this remonstration of Bhagavan was lost in the noise of the crowd, and the snake was killed. When Bhagavan came to know this he said, “If these persons are beaten like that, then they will know what it means to be beaten.”
Suri Nagamma tells on 23.5. 49 about a big green snake to be with Bhagavan in the Jubilee Hall. When Krishnaswami, Bhagavan's attendant pointed out that people might be afraid during the coming festival days Bhagavan said:
So saying Bhagavan looked at that snake for a while, steadfastly and graciously. Immediately after that, the snake, which was remaining still all the time they were discussing, got down the pandal rapidly, went into the flower-garden and disappeared.
With the death of my wife the bond between me and my family snapped. The desire to serve God had been in my mind for quite a long time. I gave up my job. I had heard a lot about Bhagavan. So I decided to go to Ramanasramam. Immediately after my arrival I was fortunate to be taken on the Ashram staff. I was looking after the Ashra
m’s correspondence. Still later I was asked to work in the kitchen. There I had the good fortune to work under Bhagavan’s direct supervision.
I was suffering for long from Asthma. It gave me a lot of trouble while cooking, but I never mentioned it to Bhagavan. I felt that I should endure it to the very end.
Bhagavan used to prepare various kinds of chutney, usually made of coconut with fragrant herbs and condiments. He was very fond of using the cheapest and most commonly found herbs and seeds and was a wizard in making wonderful dishes from the simplest ingredients. When something unusual was ready, he would give everybody in the kitchen a pinch to taste and we would take it with eyes closed, deeming it to be prasad. On one such occasion he gave me a pinch of some chutney and said, “This is medicine for you”. Without giving much thought to it I swallowed the titbit and soon realised that I was completely cured of asthma.
Once somebody complained to Bhagavan that the Ashram food was very pungent. He said, “When sattvic food is essential for spiritual practice how is it that the Ashram food is so heavily spiced”? Bhagavan explained that as long as the ingredients were pure and prepared in a pure place and in the proper way, seasoning was a matter of taste and habit and did not make food less sattvic.
An unwritten rule in the Ashram demanded that until the last meal was served and cleared, the workers should attend to their duties only. Sitting in meditation or in Bhagavan’s hall was strongly discouraged. The manager argued, with good reason, that devoted service to the Ashram was itself spiritual practice of the highest order and no other practice was needed. He would not allow us to linger in the hall during working hours, which was often tantalising because of the interesting discussions and happenings that were going on there. When we would sneak in and hide ourselves behind people’s backs, Bhagavan would look at us significantly, as if saying, “Better go to your work. Don’t ask for trouble”.
At night, after dinner, we would all collect around Bhagavan. The visitors would have left by that time and we had him all to ourselves. We felt like a big family collected after a day’s work. During this short hour Bhagavan would enquire about our welfare, chat with us, make us laugh, and also give instructions for the next day.
With time I realized that working with Bhagavan in the kitchen was not mere cooking, but definitely a form of spiritual training. The first lesson in spiritual education to learn, and to learn for good, is to obey the guru implicitly without questioning or using one’s own judgement in the least. Even if we knew a better way of doing it, we had to do it exactly as the Master told us. It might have appeared that by obeying him the work would be ruined, but still one had to obey. One must master this art of instantaneous and unquestioning obedience, for the secret of realization lies in this utter surrender and renunciation of one’s own judgement.
Bhagavan himself was an excellent cook and made a point of teaching us to cook properly. Cooking is the most rewarding work, for good cooks are usually poor eaters, and all profit goes to others. That is probably why Bhagavan selected cooking as a training ground for some of his devoted disciples.
It was Bhagavan’s order that the leftovers should be used as stock for the next day’s breakfast. Iddlies with sambar being the standard breakfast at the Ashram, the leftovers from the previous day would come in handy. Bhagavan would come into the kitchen in the early hours of the morning, warm the leftovers, dilute it and add some more ingredients for the morning sambar. The injunction against taking food from the previous day was very much respected among the higher castes. He insisted that avoidance of waste overrules everything else, and he would never permit God’s gifts to be thrown away. As to giving leftovers to beggars, it was not practicable, for he insisted that beggars be given the same food as everybody else and not some inferior stuff. Even dogs had to be fed from the common meal, and first, too!
Every morning just before breakfast Bhagavan would enter the kitchen. The vessels containing coffee, iddlies and sambar were kept ready, covered and shining bright. He would lift the lid, look inside and say, “This is coffee. These are iddlies. This is sambar”. We all felt that this consecrated the food before it was distributed to the visitors and inmates.
Once he came to the kitchen before dawn and put some of the previous day’s soup on the fire for heating. Some leaves were washed and cut and he told me to mix them in the soup and continue mixing until they lost their bright green colour. For a long time he did not return. The leaves would not change colour, the soup was getting dry and I was afraid there might be no sambar for breakfast. Bhagavan came in just before breakfast. “What, you are still mixing”? he asked with a bright smile. He was pleased that I had implicitly obeyed him and asked me to continue mixing. The gravy was ready in time and was delicious.
Once Bhagavan was frying a large quantity of condiments in a big iron pan over a strong fire. I was standing beside him when he quietly asked me to remove the pan from the fire at once. Probably he saw that more heating would burn the spices. There was nothing nearby to hold the pan with, so I caught the pan with my bare hands, lifted it and put it on the ground. I was not at all afraid to touch the hot iron, nor was I surprised that I could lift it without feeling its weight. The surprise came later when I realized how utterly impossible was all that had happened. It was a striking instance of the power of obedience to one’s guru.
Sometimes I was fortunate enough to be able to serve food to Bhagavan with my own hands. I studied carefully how I should serve to please him and was very alert and careful. Yet he would be more alert than me and notice the slightest mistake. “Why did you serve me more than usual? Do I need more food today than yesterday? And why do I get more sweets and dainties than others? How do you dare to make distinctions”? People nearby would plead for me. “No, Bhagavan”, they would say, “Sundaram did not serve you more. Look, we got as much as you did”. But Bhagavan would not be easily appeased. “You do not know, the ego is strong in him. His giving preference to me is the working of his ego”. I could not find out where I was at fault, but I took his scolding as a kind of blessing and would not worry.
The women working in the kitchen were so orthodox that they could not accept the previous day’s food. Once when some leftover sambar was taken to a devotee’s house, a special ceremony was ordered to purify the house. On hearing that Bhagavan told the ladies, “Call the purifiers and get your kitchen purified. I shall never more enter your kitchen”. The women, for the sake of their orthodox customs, lost Bhagavan’s constant presence, company and guidance. It was a real tragedy. Each devotee in the Ashram believed that Bhagavan was God Himself who had come to purify and bless him and put his feet firmly on the path to liberation. Yet when God Himself went against their religious customs, they would rather cling to their customs than to God. Blessed were those who had no other rule but obedience to Bhagavan. It was clear that he was trying to teach us the simple lesson that in his presence no rule was valid except the rule of absolute surrender. But it was not an easy lesson to learn. Again and again old habits and loyalties would assert themselves and make us pit our will against his, to our greatest harm.
Bhagavan was not a rebel or a reformer. He did not discourage people from following their religious customs at home. But in the Ashram he would not take all customs for granted. In the Ashram he was the religion and the custom, and those who forgot it had to face his very strong will
Another time when a devotee wanted 1 lakh (one hundred thousand) Tulasi leaves to perform an elaborate puja, she did not escape Bhagavan’s wrath.
“People will not allow the leaves to remain where they are, beautiful and alive. They pick them, pierce them, thread and kill them. Does God need such worship? Don’t they belong to him when they are on the plants or trees? We do these horrible things to flowers, but we would not offer ourselves to God.”
Bhagavan’s kindness and solicitude even extended to the vegetation. There used to be an almond tree to the north of Bhagavan’s hall. Chinnaswami asked a man to clear it of dead leaves, which could be used later for making leaf plates. The man started chopping with his billhook the leaves of the tree, indiscriminately right, left and centre.
Bhagavan who was observing all these winced and called to the man, “Hey! What are you doing? You are torturing the tree too much. Don’t you know the tree is alive?”
Bhagavan kept on admonishing the man, “You people can do nothing without causing pain. Imagine what would happen if I suddenly grabbed your hair and pulled it. Your hair may have no life, yet you would feel it. Better leave the poor tree alone and go away!”
Once Bhagavan saw somebody cutting a twig from a Neem tree in the night to use it as a tooth brush the next morning.
Bhagavan asked him, “Cant you let the tree sleep in peace? Surely you can take your twig in the day time. Why not have a little sense of compassion? A tree does not howl, nor can it bite or run away. Does it mean one can do anything to the tree.”
One morning Krishnaswami, Bhagavan’s attendant, was plucking down the ripe coconuts from the trees with a stick while Bhagavan was returning from the goshala. Bhagavan asked Krishnaswami, what type of stick he was using to pluck the coconuts, whether it had a bamboo bit attached to the end or an iron point. Krishnaswami remarked that it was only an iron sickle.
Bhagavan asked, ‘Will not the trees be hurt by the sharp iron? Would not a rod with a bamboo bit at the end serve the purpose?’
But he did not wait for a reply. Krishnaswami went on with his work without changing his implement. He continued to use the same iron sickle every morning.
A week later, at the same time as on the previous occasion, while Krishnaswami was cutting down the coconuts from the trees, one fell on his forehead, striking his nose very painfully. This news was reported to Bhagavan. While expressing pity for the man, Bhagavan also remarked, ‘Now he will know what it is to be hurt, and also how much his iron sickle must have hurt the uncomplaining trees.’
One day when Bhagavan was seated in the midst of his disciples, he suddenly got up and strode quickly toward the hill. Kunju Swami said, ―I was very curious. Bhagavan usually never did anything unpredictable. Whenever he did, on rare occasions, there was some significance behind it.‖ Kunju Swami was waiting for Bhagavan to instruct him to come, but the guru went alone. From a distance he could see Bhagavan surrounded by monkeys. After half an hour or so, Bhagavan came back with his eyes swollen from shedding tears. ―We were alarmed and asked what happened,‖ Kunju Swami narrated.
Bhagavan replied, ―These monkeys have been searching for me at Skandashram. When I left, they searched all over the hill, putting their lives in peril. Monkeys live in kingdoms, and if they wandered into another territory, they could be killed by rival monkeys. These monkeys have come with their children at risk and are begging me to come back to Skandashram because they miss me there. It took me a long time to persuade them. I explained my situation and asked them to go back. I gave them my assurance that they will get back safely.‖
Whenever Kunju Swami narrated this anecdote, he would weep copiously because he would bring before us Bhagavan‘s poignant unity with the animal kingdom, including monkeys.
Wolter A. Keers was a Dutch teacher and writer who lectured extensively on Yoga and Advaita in Europe in the 1970s and 80s. Shortly before his death in the 1980
s, he invited his friends to a party at his house in his hometown. At the end of the party, he informed his friends that he was going to give up his body. He prostrated to a large photo of Sri Ramana that he had placed on the floor. Then he placed a cushion in front of the photo, laid down his head on the cushion at Sri Ramana’s feet and passed away.
I brought a large amount of spiritual samskaras into this life. I was born into a family of clergymen. All interest in our household was focused on matters of religion. I must have been taught how to pray almost before I could talk. During a despairing phase of my life, I read Jnana Yoga by Swami Vivekananda. It caused something of an explosion in me. There, in those pages, I finally found someone who had been able to put into words what I had been feeling intuitively. It was a relief to discover that countless seekers down the ages had shared my own problem and spiritual hunger.
Not long after, I came across The Secret Path by Paul Brunton When I read in those pages that there was a living sage in India with whom one could talk, blue patches returned to my sky. There was a photo of Bhagavan in the book. I used to focus on it during my meditation and I also began to concentrate on the heart-centre that Bhagavan had stated was on the right chest. It took a lot of effort and practice to become fully absorbed in these objects of meditation, but I persevered because I felt at the time that these were tools that had been given to me by Bhagavan.
I concentrated on Bhagavan more and more. Sometimes, I was almost fighting with him, begging him to help me in my efforts to come and see him. I know it sounds absurd to make such a claim, but there came a point when I could confidently say ‘I won’. One day I looked at Bhagavan’s photo and knew with a calm unshakable certainty that I would be travelling to India. And the opportunity came in the beginning of 1950.
Roda Maclver, a Bombay devotee who had been living near Bhagavan for several years took me to the Ashram and pointed out Bhagavan to me. The mere sight of him made me tremble all over because I had come face to face with the divine. This recognition affected me so much that my body shook involuntarily. As I gazed at Bhagavan, I felt I saw God himself sitting there.
In that early morning meeting I saw a blazing light that had taken a human form. It was more radiant than anything I had ever seen before. When I was very young, I had believed that God was some magnificent being, having a human form that radiated light and goodness. I had long since abandoned this childhood belief, believing it to be a fairy story that was told only to credulous children. Yet now this childhood belief turned out to be true, because here before me was a human form that seemed to be made of light itself. God became manifest before my eyes, announcing his presence to me by radiating a blazing, penetrating light, a light that went right through me like x-rays.
When I had time to reflect on this first darshan, it seemed amazing that such an air of normality could prevail around someone who was radiating so much light and energy. Perhaps other people were not seeing and feeling what I was experiencing. I asked Roda about this later that day. She laughed and said, “Many people do have special experiences when they see Bhagavan. For most of the time we all see him as a normal, elderly person sitting on a sofa, but once in a while he graces us with an experience, such as you had today, that convinces us of his greatness and his divinity.”
There was a radiant power and energy in Bhagavan’s presence that effortlessly swept through the mind and matter. His grace silenced my mind, it filled my heart, and it took me to realms that were way beyond the phenomenal. The light radiating from Bhagavan filled my being, sweeping away all my darkness in one stroke. Effort seemed redundant when his presence alone was enough to evaporate the usual mental flow of thoughts, ideas and problems.
For me, Bhagavan’s immediate presence was overwhelmingly potent and nothing could distract or disturb me there. However, I began to notice that the exalted state of experience in his presence gradually wore off when I went back to my little house opposite the Ashram. Sitting in Bhagavan’s presence I felt a quiet lucidity. All thoughts and problems would be swept away, burnt in the raging fire of his potent presence. But after a few hours of being alone in my room, I would realise that these states were only temporary because my old thoughts and problems would eventually rise up again. I felt I had to confront Bhagavan with this problem. I had not come to him for blissful experiences; I had come to him to seek a permanent end to my mind and all its problems.
That day when I passed in front of him, a quick smile passed over his face. I somehow felt that he knew what I had come for. Was he smiling at the audacity of my demand? I sat down among the crowd close to Bhagavan, and began to bombard him with thoughts. With all the mental energy I could summon up, I shot out my complaint at him: ‘Bhagavan, of what use is all your radiance to me if I cannot solve my mental problems the moment I leave you?’ This, with minor variations, I repeated again and again. Bhagavan took no notice. He continued to go through his everyday routine. Frustrated, I concentrated on him even more. I tried to shake his indifference with my thoughts. I felt I was shaking him the way I would shake a tree to get a fruit to fall off. The whole force of my will was focused on one thought, ‘I must have an answer; I must have an answer.’ Finally, my mental persistence paid off. He turned in my direction and looked at me with a smile of utter amazement on his face. Then his expression changed and its new configuration exclaimed, ‘You are looking for your glasses and they are on your nose!’ No words passed his lips, but the message came to me with unbelievable clarity. There was no doubt or conjecture or imagination. Bhagavan continued to gaze at me. Perhaps he was waiting for some kind of response.
Suddenly his eyes emitted light and spat fire at me. I can think of no other way of describing that sudden explosion in his gaze. His powerful look went straight into me, boring away at everything that made me think I was different and separate from him. I felt the right-hand-side heart getting warmer as he continued to gaze at me, until I felt it to be a hot, fiery ball glowing inside me. I felt as if he was charging it with some immensely powerful spiritual electricity because, as he continued to look at me, I had the unmistakable feeling that my heart-center was some kind of spiritual dynamo that was emitting sparks of light and energy. I felt as if some enormously potent electrical apparatus had been suddenly transplanted into my chest.
I sat rigid and straight, my eyes glued to his. Fire flowed from his glowing eyes and drilled into the core of my being. How long this transmission lasted, I cannot say. Time and space had no meaning in that never-ending moment when our eyes were locked together. At some point, I realized that my body could no longer stand the strain. The fire in my chest had expanded to the point where I felt that I was about to explode. Mentally, I asked Bhagavan to let me go.
I had received what I had come for. There was a complete trans- formation, inside and out, and it all happened without a word being spoken. That communication through silence was clearer and more direct than any explanation that could be given in words.
Having received the blessings and initiation, I gave my place in the crowd to those who might still have been seeking their own final benediction. Back in Bombay, where I stayed in a friend’s flat, I was amazed to discover to what extent changes had occurred. Something had clearly and demonstrably transformed my mind and my understanding.
My two months’ stay with Bhagavan had turned me inside out and upside down. My mind and heart had been illuminated by his grace, but I also knew that the time I spent with him had been too short to remove all obstacles. Being with Bhagavan had given me the unshakable conviction that he was looking after me. I knew that he was supervising my spiritual welfare. I also knew that his guidance would not cease simply because he had shed his body. Three months after his physical departure I had a vision of Bhagavan that amply justified my faith that he would continue to guide me.
I used to imagine myself in the hall, speaking with him. During one of these imaginary exercises, I suddenly found myself transported back to Sri Ramanasramam, and once more I was sitting opposite to him. He smiled at me. How can that smile ever be described? It contained the whole world. On this occasion I felt I was being bathed in a radiant glow of love and light. I asked him what I should do about all the various mental problems. He told me to spend time with another venerable teacher whose name was mentally mentioned to me. I spent several years with this man until I felt that all my problems had been overcome.
I still find myself being with Bhagavan. Sometimes it is with form and sometimes it is without form. It is a kind of deep visitation that touches and overwhelms me when it suddenly descends.When Bhagavan’s presence makes itself known to me, I feel tears beginning to flow. Deep emotions arise. I glow with happiness and my heart leaps into the sky.
The first time I saw Bhagavan, I immediately recognised that this was the being I had been looking for all my life. My immediate experiences in his presence cemented that conviction. The problem I always encounter when I start to speak or write about Bhagavan is that the real Ramana the Maharshi is unimaginable and therefore indescribable. Who, for example, can really describe happiness? My experience of Bhagavan was pure happiness. The pure radiance of his real, egoless state is unimaginable, beyond any verbal description.
I was inclined to compare him with Jesus or the Buddha. But they were images in my head, formed on the beliefs in which I had been brought up and on the stories heard and read later on. Sri Ramana Maharshi, from the second I saw him, was anything but an image in my head. He was a bomb that exploded the myth of my life. His look blasted away years of accumulated wrong ideas.
In his presence reality manifested itself. His presence revealed to me how stupid I had been all my life. I came to Bhagavan for help to climb a mountain, but after smiling at my idea of help, he showed me that the mountain did not exist. I regarded myself as a poor man in need of help. He revealed to me that I was more than a millionaire. He showed me that I was the source of all things. He enabled me to realize the timeless, unimaginable, unthinkable ‘I am’.
Simply by abiding in his luminous natural state, he made me experience myself as a light. I will not say that in his presence my sense of
‘I’ vanished completely; it simply diminished in significance. It took me three or four years for the full impact of Bhagavan’s silence to settle in me and become, if I may use such a phrase, ‘my own’.
Bhagavan encouraged us to examine through self-enquiry, questions such as,‘ Who wants to realize? Who feels exalted or miserable? Who feels angry, desired or shunned?’ The purpose here is not to track down the person who had these feelings or emotions, it is to discover that such a person does not and never did exist.
By sitting in Bhagavan’s presence, there was a confrontation between illusion and truth, and in that confrontation illusion could not sustain itself. Whatever transformation took place in his presence happened of its own accord, not because he desired it or willed it. Darkness was exposed to light and ceased to be dark. Light did not orches- trate it in any way. It simply expressed its inherent nature. If you ask me how all this worked, my answer is, ‘I don’t know.’
discovered it during one of the discussions, and it had really surprised and shocked her. It was there,
discovered it, she thought it was something very superficial which she could easily throw off; but as
the days went by she found that it wasn’t just a mild affair, but a deep-rooted hatred which had been
that is not love. Thought is sensation, and sensation is not love. The very process of thinking is the
denial of love. Love is the flame without the smoke of thought, of jealousy, of antagonism, of usage,
must be hate; for the mind is the seat of hate, of antagonism, of opposition, of conflict. Thought is
reaction, and reaction is always, in one way or another, the source of enmity. Thought is opposition,
hate; thought is always in competition, always seeking an end, success; its fulfilment is pleasure and
its frustration is hate. Conflict is thought caught in the opposites; and the synthesis of the opposites
is still hate, antagonism. ”You see, I always thought I loved the children, and even when they grew up
they used to come to me for comfort when they were in trouble. I took it for granted that I loved them,
especially those who were my favorites away from the classroom; but now I see there has always been an undercurrent of hate, of deep-rooted antagonism. What am I to do with this discovery? You
Let us do so now and see what happens; let us be passively watchful of hate as it unrolls itself. Don’t
be shocked, don’t condemn or find excuses; just passively watch it. Hate is a form of frustration, is
money in it, or if it didn’t bring more prestige, more power.‘More’ was his god, and we were all his
opportunity to be the boss. On my holidays I used to paint, but it was most unsatisfactory; I wanted
to give my life to it, and I actually gave only a couple of months a year. Finally I stopped painting,
”I fell in love with a married man, and we lived together secretly. I was furiously jealous of his wife
to move to another town, and my jealousy never abated. It was an unbearable thing. To forget it all,
I took to teaching more intensely. But now I see I am still jealous, not of him, for he is dead, but of
Jealousy is hate, is it not? If one loves, there is no room for anything else. But we do not love; the
”I can see now that in school, with my married sisters, and in almost all my relationships, there was
The stronger the ideal, the deeper the suppression, the deeper the conflict and antagonism. ”Yes, I see all that now; and strangely, as I watch, I don’t mind being what I actually am.”
You don’t mind it because there is a kind of brutal recognition, is there not? This very recognition
brings a certain pleasure; it gives vitality, a sense of confidence in knowing yourself, the power of
for jealousy, for frustration, for being left: it is hate and the knowledge of it. There is pride in knowing,
release, but only produces another crisis, another antagonism. Just be passively watchful of this and
let the truth of it be. ”Will there be freedom from jealousy, from hate, from this constant, suppressed
will succeed in your desire, but that is only another substitution, and so the battle is on again. This
desire to gain or to avoid is still within the field of opposition, is it not? See the false as the false,
then the truth is. You don’t have to look for it. What you seek you will find, but it will not be truth.
be passively aware of this total thought process, and also of the desire to be free of it. ”All this has
I hope it won’t take more years to go beyond this conflict. There I am hoping again! I shall silently
Mastan Swami was born 1878 in Desur, about forty miles from Tiruvannamalai. He came from a Muslim family of weavers. Even in his childhood he experienced samadhi states. While plying the family loom, his hands and feet would suddenly stop and become absolutely still.
upaksha Cave. (His unwavering gaze) was filled with grace, compassion and steady wisdom. I stood by his side. After giving me a look, he opened the gate of my Heart and I was also established in his state. I stood like that for eight hours, absolutely without fatigue, but filled with total absorption and peace. Bhagavan in those days used to open our heart with a simple gracious look, and it transformed us. There was no need for any questions since he made us, by his look, like himself.”
“ All sorts of beings gravitate towards the presence of a jnani, devas (from heavenly realms), rishis, Brahmanishtas (established in Brahman), siddhas (perfected beings with supernatural powers) and yogis. Some come in a normal human form, but others turn up in their subtle, astral bodies. Some of these great beings show up in the guise of beggars or madmen, and some of them even appear in the forms of birds and animals.
“Among those who show up in a normal human body, and who subsequently stay on and become devotees, there is a huge range of spiritual attainment: complete beginners mix with highly advanced souls. The most advanced are ripe fruits, just waiting to fall. They only have to come into the presence of a jnani in order to plunge into a deep experience of the Self. One such devotee was Mastan.
“He was such a ripe soul, when he came to Virupaksha Cave to see me he would sometimes go into a deep samadhi before he had even entered the cave. As soon as he touched the railings of the gate, he would have a paralyzing experience of the Self. He would stand, rooted to the spot, unable to move, for six or seven hours. This happened several times. Usually, these experiences would happen before he had even seen me since I would be inside the cave, unaware what was going on at the gate.
“Mastan was in an entirely different category to most of the people who came. He was highly spiritual, although outwardly he looked like an ordinary man. He was kind and generous, always looking for an opportunity to help other people. He never showed any self-importance. On the contrary he liked to stay in the background, unnoticed and unappreciated by ordinary people.”
These samadhi states did not give him a full and permanent experience of the Self. When his mind reasserted itself, he went to Bhagavan for advice:
Bhagavan then told me, ‘Fix the mind in the Heart. If you keep your attention at the source from where all thoughts arise, the mind will subside at the source and reality will shine forth.’
I had already come across similar teachings in Maharaja Turavu, Mastan’s verses and Sukar Kaivalyam. I had also seen these instructions in several other books. I took a firm decision that this was the way for me. After this meeting with Bhagavan I had no further doubts about this. No doubts at all." (From B. V. Narasimha Swami’s interview)
"For some time, while I was meditating at night for about an hour, I used to hear the sound of a big bell ringing. Sometimes a limitless effulgence would appear. In 1922 when I visited Bhagavan at his new ashram at the foot of the hill, I asked him about this.
He advised me, ‘There is no need to concern ourselves about sounds such as these. If you see from where it rises, it will be known that it arises on account of a desire [sankalpa] of the mind. Everything appears in oneself and subsides within oneself. The light, too, only appears from the same place. If you see to whom it appears, mind will subside at the source and only reality will remain.’" (From Narasimha Swami’s interview.)
Mastan continued to visit Bhagavan throughout the 1920s, although his visits were less frequent than in earlier years.
The math that Mastan and Akhilandamma ran in Desur had been established to serve travelling sadhus, particularly those who were devotees of Bhagavan. The following story, narrated by Viswanatha Swami, indicates that Mastan took this responsibility very seriously:
In those days [the 1920s] some of Bhagavan’s devotees used to travel on foot to nearby towns such as Polur and Desur. We used to undertake these trips to visit devotees who lived in those areas. Bhagavan always gave us his permission before we undertook any of these trips. The members of the group would vary from trip to trip but we could usually count on devotees such as Kunju Swami, Ramaswami Pillai, ‘Nondi’ Srinivasa Iyer, Ramanatha Brahmachari and Ranga Rao to be enthusiastic about these adventures. I also went on many of these trips. Some of our expeditions would be to Cuddalore or Vellore, but most of them would be to locations in the Polur and Chengam areas.
When we travelled we would never stay in houses. When night came we would shelter in mantapams or caves. Sometimes we would just sleep under trees. We would beg for our food on the way. Sometimes people would give us provisions for a meal. If that happened we would stop and cook. If we received cooked food in our bowls, we would share it out equally among all the members of our group. Although we had a lot of fun, we were also aware that we were sadhus on a pilgrimage. As we walked we would chant scriptural works or meditate in silence.
On some of these trips Mastan would somehow find out in advance where we were going. We would arrive at a town, Polur for example, and find him waiting for us. Once he had discovered our whereabouts, he would make us sit while he went out begging for us. We didn’t want to be served in this way, but Mastan was very insistent. He told us on these occasions that he was the ‘devotee of devotees’, a role and a title that he took on himself.
He would say, ‘I want to serve the devotees of Bhagavan. You must stay here while I find food for you.’
Mastan would generally return with a huge amount of food, far more than we could possibly eat. After we had eaten as much as we could, we would share the leftovers with any local people who lived nearby. If we were living in caves or other out-of-the-way places, we would give the leftovers to monkeys.
As he fed us Mastan would make one persistent request: ‘Please tell me some stories about the glory of our Master. Tell me everything he has said during the time I was not with him. To me, every word Bhagavan speaks is holy. The words that come out of his holy mouth are so powerful, merely listening to them can give liberation to ripe souls.’ (Unpublished story narrated to V. Ganesan by Viswanatha Swami)
Mastan passed away on 8th November 1931. When Bhagavan learned of Mastan’s passing away, he sent Kunju Swami to his village with full instructions on how to make a samadhi for Mastan. There is a Tamil book [Tirumular’s Tirumandiram] that faithfully gives the details of how saints who have followed Lord Siva have to be buried. In accordance with these details Bhagavan drew up a plan of the dimensions of the samadhi and sent it along with Kunju Swami. It seemed very strange to us that a Muslim should be given a Saiva saint’s burial and stranger still that Bhagavan, who did not generally encourage ceremonial rites, actually laid down in the minutest detail the rites to be followed in the samadhi of Mastan.
There is something called organ comfort. There are various aspects to this. Just to handle one aspect of it – see right now, most of the vital organs of the body are in the chest and abdomen region. These organs are not rigid, they are not fixed with bolts and clams. They are loose, hanging in nets. Only if you sit with your spine erect, your organs will be in the maximum possible comfort.
If you travel 1000km on a reclining chair, your lifespan will come down by at least three to five years…
Now, the modern idea of comfort is to lean backward and slouch. If you sit in such a posture, your organs will never be at comfort. They will not function the way they need to. This is especially true if you eat a full meal and sit in a reclining chair. A lot of travel happens in reclining chairs. I would say, if you travel a thousand kilometers on a reclining chair in a car, your lifespan will come down by at least three to five years. This is because the organs suffer so much, their ability to function will go down dramatically or you will at least be impaired in some ways.
Keeping the body erect is not because we don’t like comfort, it is because we understand and experience comfort in a completely different way. You can train your muscles to be comfortable, with your spine erect, but you cannot train your organs to be comfortable while slouching. There is no way to do it. So, we choose to train the body, so that our skeletal system and muscular system is comfortable sitting this way.
I was continually asked to be truthful. And I said to my father, "Whenever you say to me to be truthful, you have to remember one thing, that truth has to be rewarded; otherwise you are forcing me not to be truthful. I am willing."
Very easily I figured out that truth does not pay: you are punished. Lies pay; you are rewarded. Now it was a question of very decisive, very great importance. So I made it clear to my parents that it had to be understood clearly: "If you want me to be truthful then truth has to be rewarded, and not in a future life but here and now, because I am being truthful here and now. And if truth is not rewarded, if I am punished for it, then you are forcing me to lie. So let this be clearly understood; then there is no problem for me, I will always be truthful."
I don't think that every child tries to figure it out and makes a clear-cut contract with the parents. But this became a contract with my father. Howsoever the truth was against him, his morality, his family, his society, his respect, that did not matter; what mattered was that I was true. And for that I needed immediate reward, "Otherwise next time you know I will say what you want to hear -- but remember, it will be a lie."
The day that for the first time I said this to my father, he said, "Let me think it over, because you seem to be tricky. You are putting me into a subtle net. You do some mischief and are truthful, and I will have to reward you for your mischief"
I said, "It is your business to decide whether you want me to be truthful or not. Anyway I am going to do what I want to do. The mischief would have happened anyway. It has happened, only afterwards the question arises to be true or to be untrue. So why bring mischief into it? It has already happened. Now nothing can be done about it. You cannot undo it.
What can be done is: you can force me to lie, and I can lie. And I can lie with such a face that you will think I am absolutely truthful. I will learn. If that is the way, then let that be the way, but remember, you have been responsible for distracting me from truth because you were rewarding lies and punishing the truth. You can think it over. I am not in a hurry. You are asking me."
What had happened was that, living two or three blocks away from my family was a brahmin family, very orthodox brahmins. Brahmins cut all their hair and just leave a small part on the seventh chakra on the head uncut so that part goes on growing. They go on tying it and keeping it inside their cap or inside their turban. And what I had done was, I had cut the father's hair. In summertime in India, people sleep outside the house, on the street. They bring their beds, cots, on the streets. The whole town sleeps on the streets in the night, it is so hot inside.
So this brahmin was sleeping -- and it was not my fault... he had such a long choti; it is called choti, that bunch of hair. I had never seen it because it was always hidden inside his turban. While he was sleeping, it was hanging down and touching the street. From his cot it was so long that I was tempted, I could not resist; I rushed home, brought the scissors, cut it off completely and took it and kept it in my room.
In the morning he must have found that it was gone. he could not believe it because his whole purity was in it, his whole religion was in it -- his whole spirituality was destroyed. But everybody in the neighborhood knew that if anything goes wrong... first they would rush to me. And he came immediately. I was sitting outside knowing well that he would come in the morning. He looked at me. I also looked at him. He said to me, "What are you looking at?"
I said, "I have not done anything to this man, but I have cut a choti which certainly cannot belong to this man, because when I was cutting it, what was he doing? He could have prevented it."
I said, "That certainly shows that hairs are dead. You can cut them but a person is not hurt, no blood comes out. So what is the fuss about? A dead thing was hanging there... and I thought that you are unnecessarily carrying this dead thing inside your turban for your whole life -- why not relieve you? It is in my room. And with my father I have the contract to be true."
So I brought out his choti and said, "If you are so interested in it, you can take it back. If it is your spirituality, your brahminism, you can keep it tied and put it inside your turban. It is dead anyway; it was dead when it was attached to you, it was dead when I detached it. You can keep it inside your turban."
My father said, "This is the trouble. Yesterday he proposed a contract that if he speaks the truth... and sincerely; he is not only speaking the truth, he is even giving the proof He has told the whole story -- and even has logic behind it -- that it was a dead thing so why be bothered with a dead thing? And he is not hiding anything."
He rewarded me with five rupees. In those days, in that small village, five rupees was a great reward. The man was mad at my father. He said, "You will spoil this child. You should beat him rather than giving him five rupees. Now he will cut other people's chotis. If he gets five rupees per choti, all the brahmins of the town are finished, because they are all sleeping outside in the night; and when you are sleeping you cannot go on holding your choti in your hand. And what are you doing? -- this will become a precedent."
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