Sunday, June 3, 2007

6. ARUNACHALA

THERE IS A ruggedness about the scene. Boulders lie as though scattered by a giant hand. Dry thorn and cactus

fences, sun-parched fields, small hills eroded into gaunt shapes; and yet huge shady trees along the dusty road, and here and there, near tank or well, the vivid green of paddy fields. And rising up out of this rough beauty the hill of Arunachala. Though only 2,682 feet high it dominates the countryside. From the south, the side of the Ashram, it is deceptively simple -- just a symmetrical hill with two almost equal foothills, one on either side. To make the symmetry more perfect, it wears most mornings a crown of white cloud or haze about the summit. But it is astonishing how the aspect changes as one treads the eight-mile road around it, going the prescribed way, from south to west, with one's right side to the hill; and each aspect has its character and symbolism --

that where it flings back an echo, that where the peak barely shows between two foothills, like the Self in the interval between two thoughts, that of the five peaks, that of Siva and Sakti, and others.

Sacred tanks mark the eight directions of space and

mantapams (simple stone halls) stand at various significant points. Pre-eminent among these is the Dakshinamurti Mantapam at the southern point, for Dakshinamurti is Siva teaching in silence, and that is Arunachala.

"Who is the seer? When I sought within I watched the disappearance of the seer and what survived it. No thought of `I saw' arose, so how could the thought `I did not see' arise? Who has the power to convey this in words when even Thou couldst do so in ancient days by silence only (appearing as Dakshinamurti)? Only to convey by silence Thy State Thou standest as a Hill shining from heaven to earth."1

Sri Bhagavan always encouraged pradakshina [?] (circuit) of the hill. Even in the case of the old or infirm he would not discourage it but only tell them to go slowly. Indeed, the pradakshina [?] is supposed to be made slowly, "like a pregnant queen in her ninth month." Whether in silent meditation or with singing or blowing of conch, it is to be made on foot, not in any conveyance, and in fact barefoot. The most auspicious times are Sivarathri, the Night of Siva, and Kartikai, the day when the constellation of kartikai (pleiades) is in conjunction with the full moon, falling usually in November. On these occasions the continuous stream of devotees has been compared to a garland around the hill.

An elderly cripple was once hobbling on crutches along the road that skirts the hill. He had often done so in pradakshina [?] but this time it was to leave Tiruvannamalai. He felt himself an encumbrance to his family; quarrels had broken out and he had

decided to leave them and somehow make a living in a village. Suddenly a young Brahmin appeared before him and snatched away his crutches saying, "You don't deserve them." Before the anger that flushed him could find words he realized that his limbs were straight and he needed no crutches. He did not leave Tiruvannamalai; he stayed and was well known there. Sri Bhagavan told the story in all detail to some devotees and remarked on its similarity to that told in the Arunachala Sthala Purana . He was a young Swami on the hill at the time but he never said that it was he who appeared as the Brahmin youth.

Arunachala is one of the oldest and most sacred of all India's holy places. Sri Bhagavan declared that it is the heart of the earth, the spiritual centre of the world. Sri Shankara spoke of it as Mount Meru. The Skanda Purana [?] declares: "That is the holy place. Of all, Arunachala is the most sacred. It is the heart of the world. Know it to be the secret and sacred Heart-centre of Siva." Many Saints have lived there, merging their sanctity with that of the hill. It is said, and confirmed by Sri Bhagavan, that to this day Siddhas (Sages with supernatural powers) dwell in its caves, whether with physical bodies or not, and some are said to have seen them as lights moving about the hill at night.

There is a puranic story about the origin of the hill. Once

Vishnu and Brahma fell to disputing which of them was the greater. Their quarrelling brought chaos on earth, so the Devas approached Siva and besought him to settle the dispute. Siva thereupon manifested himself as a column of light from which a voice issued declaring that whoever could find its upper or lower end was the greater. Vishnu took the form of a boar and burrowed down into the earth to find the base, while Brahma took the form of a swan and soared upwards to seek its summit. Vishnu failed to reach the base of the column but "beginning to see within himself the Supreme Light which dwells in the hearts of

all, he became lost in meditation, oblivious to the physical body and even unaware of himself, the one who sought." Brahma saw a screw pine flower falling through the air and, thinking to win by deception, returned with it and declared he had plucked it from the summit.

Vishnu admitted his failure and turned to the Lord in praise and prayer: "You are Self-knowledge. You are OM. You are the beginning and the middle and the end of everything. You are everything and illuminate everything." He was pronounced great while Brahma was abashed and confessed his fault.

In this legend Vishnu represents the ego or individuality and Brahma the mentality, while Siva is Atma, the Spirit.

The story continues that, because the lingam or column of light was too dazzling to behold, Siva manifested himself instead as the hill Arunachala, declaring: "As the moon derives its light from the sun, so other holy places shall derive their sanctity from Arunachala. This is the only place where I have taken this form for the benefit of those who wish to worship me and obtain illumination. Arunachala is OM itself. I will appear on the summit of this hill every year at Kartikai in the form of a peace-giving beacon." This refers not only to the sanctity of Arunachala itself but also to the pre-eminence of the doctrine of Advaita and the path of Self-enquiry of which Arunachala is the centre. One can understand this meaning in Sri Bhagavan's saying, "In the end everyone must come to Arunachala."

It was more than two years after his arrival at Tiruvannamalai before Sri Bhagavan began to live on the hill. Up till then he had stayed constantly at some shrine or temple. Only towards the close of 1898 did he take up his abode in the small temple at Pavalakunru, hallowed centuries ago by the presence of the great Saint Gautama Rishi, where his mother found him. He never left

Arunachala again. Early next year he moved into a cave on the hill itself and thereafter he stayed in one cave or another until 1922 when he moved down to the foot of the hill. There the present Ashram grew up and there he spent his remaining years on earth.

While on the hill, he lived nearly all the time on the eastern slope. The Ashram stands at the south, just beside the Dakshinamurti mantapam [?] (stone hall). `The Southward-Facing' is one of the 108 Names of Bhagavan that are now chanted daily at his samadhi [?] shrine. It is a name symbolical of spiritual authority in general, as the Sadguru is the Pole round which the world revolves, but it is in particular a name of Dakshinamurti. Dakshinamurti is Siva teaching in silence. In the verse quoted at the beginning of this chapter Sri Bhagavan identifies Arunachala with Dakshinamurti; in the following verse he speaks of Ramana and Arunachala as one:

"In the recesses of the lotus-shaped heart of all, from

Vishnu downwards, there shines as Absolute Consciousness, the Paramatman [?] (Supreme Spirit) who is the same as Arunachala or Ramana. When the mind melts with love of him and reaches the inmost recess of the heart wherein he abides as the Beloved, the subtle eye of Absolute Consciousness opens and he reveals himself as pure Knowledge."

The cave to which Sri Bhagavan went first and in which he stayed longest is on the eastern slope. It is called Virupaksha after a Saint who dwelt and was buried there, probably in the sixteenth century. It is curiously shaped to resemble the sacred monosyllable OM, the tomb being in the inner recess, and it is said that the very sound OM can be heard within.

The trustees of the Virupaksha math [?] (shrine) in town had also property rights over the cave and used to levy a small fee on pilgrims who visited it at the annual festival of Kartikai. At the time when Sri Bhagavan went there this practice had fallen into

abeyance because two parties were disputing the ownership and a lawsuit was pending between them. When the case was decided the successful party resumed the levy, but by that time the stream of visitors had grown much larger and was continuous throughout the year, not merely at Kartikai; and since it was the presence of Sri Bhagavan that drew them there the fee had become, in effect, a tax on access to him. In order not to sanction this, he moved out of the cave to a level patch of ground in front of it and sat under the shade of a tree there. The agent thereupon shifted his place of collection to the outer perimeter to include access to the tree also. So Sri Bhagavan left and went to the Sadguruswami Cave lower down and then, after a short stay there, to another cave. The stream of visitors to Virupaksha Cave ceased, and the proprietors, finding that they had only inconvenienced the Swami without benefiting themselves, asked him to return and undertook not to levy the fee so long as he occupied the cave. On this condition he returned.

In the summer months Virupaksha Cave becomes oppressively hot. There is a cave near Mulaipal Tirtha tank near Virupaksha Cave, that is cooler and has a supply of pure water for drinking. A mango tree stands over it, giving shade, from which it has acquired the name of Mango Tree Cave. Two brothers, devotees of Sri Bhagavan, blasted away the overhanging rock and put up a front wall with a door and he occupied it during the hot months.

In the year 1900, shortly after Sri Bhagavan went to live on the hill, a devotee named Nalla Pillai from Kumbakonam came to Tiruvannamalai and took a photograph of him, the earliest portrait we have. It is the face of a beautiful youth, almost a child, yet with the strength and profundity of the Bhagavan.

During the early years on the hill Sri Bhagavan still maintained silence. His radiance had already drawn a group of devotees around him and an Ashram had come into being. It was not only seekers after Truth that were drawn to him but

simple people, children, even animals. Young children from the town would climb the hill to Virupaksha Cave, sit near him, play around him, and go back feeling happy. Squirrels and monkeys would come up to him and eat out of his hand

He occasionally wrote out explanations or instructions for his disciples, but his not speaking did not really impede their training because, both now and later when he had resumed speech, his real teaching was through silence, in the tradition of Dakshinamurti, the tradition exemplified also in China by Lao Tsu and the early Taoist Sages. "That Tao which can be named is not the Tao" -- the knowledge which can be formulated is not the true Knowledge. This silent teaching was a direct spiritual influence which the mind absorbed and later interpreted according to its ability. The first European visitor has thus described it:

"On reaching the cave we sat before him at his feet and said nothing. We sat thus for a long time and I felt lifted out of myself. For half an hour I looked into the Maharshi's eyes, which never changed their expression of deep contemplation. I began to realize somewhat that the body is the Temple of the Holy Ghost; I could feel only that his body was not the man: it was the instrument of God, merely a sitting, motionless corpse from which God was radiating terrifically. My own feelings were indescribable."1

Another, Paul Brunton, who arrived more a sceptic than a believer, has given the following account of the first impact the silence of Sri Bhagavan made upon his mind.

"It is an ancient theory of mine that one can take the inventory of a man's soul from his eyes. But before those of the Maharshi I hesitate, puzzled and baffled. . . .

"I cannot turn my gaze away from him. My initial bewilderment, my perplexity at being totally ignored, slowly fade away as this strange fascination begins to grip me more firmly. But it is not till the second hour of the uncommon scene that I become aware of a silent, resistless change which is taking place within my mind. One by one, the questions which I prepared in the train with such meticulous accuracy drop away. For it does not now seem to matter whether they are asked or not, and it does not matter whether I solve the problems which have hitherto troubled me. I know only that a steady river of quietness seems to be flowing near me, that a great peace is penetrating the inner reaches of my being, and that my thought-tortured brain is beginning to arrive at some rest."

It was not only to the restless mind of the intellectual that the Grace of Bhagavan brought peace but to the grief-stricken heart also. Echammal, as she was called at the Ashram (her previous name had been Lakshmiammal), had been a happy wife and mother in the village of Mandakolathur, but before the age of twenty-five she lost first her husband, then her only son, then her only daughter. Stunned by her bereavement, tortured by memory, she could find no rest. She could no longer endure the place where she had been happy, the people among whom she had been happy. Thinking it might help her to forget, she travelled to Gokarnam in Bombay State to serve the holy men there, but she returned as grief-stricken as she went. Some friends told her of a young Swami at Tiruvannamalai who brought peace to those who sought. At once she set out. She had relatives in the town but did not go to them as the very sight of them would bring back her bitter memories. With a friend she climbed the hill to the Swami. She stood in silence before him, not telling her grief. There was no need. The compassion shining in his

eyes was healing. A whole hour she stood, no word spoken, and then she turned and went down the hillside to the town, her steps light, the burden of her sorrow lifted.

Daily she visited the Swami thereafter. He was the sun that had dispersed her clouds. She could even recall her loved ones now without bitterness. She spent the rest of her life in Tiruvannamalai. She was able to take a small house there -- her father left her a little money and her brothers helped her out -- and many visiting devotees enjoyed her hospitality. She prepared food for Sri Bhagavan daily -- which meant for the whole Ashram, because he would accept nothing that was not shared equally among all. Until age and failing health kept her away, she used to carry it up the hillside herself and would never eat until she had served them. As they grew in numbers her contribution came to be only a small addition to the general meal, but if ever she was delayed Sri Bhagavan would wait till she came so as not to disappoint her.

With all the grief she had passed through and the peace she had found, she was still mother enough to form a new attachment, and she adopted a daughter, not without asking Sri Bhagavan's permission. When the time came she arranged her marriage and rejoiced at the birth of a grandson whom she named Ramana. And then one day, utterly unprepared, she received a telegram that her adopted daughter had died. The old grief broke upon her again. She rushed up the hill to Sri Bhagavan with the telegram. He read it with tears in his eyes and, appeased but still sorrowful, she left for the funeral. She returned with the child Ramana and placed him in the arms of Sri Bhagavan. Once more there were tears in his eyes as he held the child and his compassion brought her peace.

Echammal used to practise Yogic concentration into which she had been initiated by a North Indian Guru. She would fix her gaze on the tip of her nose and sit in ecstatic contemplation of the light that appeared before her, sometimes for hours together

motionless, oblivious of the body. Sri Bhagavan was told of this but did not reply. Finally she herself told him and he discouraged the practice. "Those lights you see outside yourself are not your real goal. You should aim at realizing the Self and nothing short of it." Thereupon she discontinued her former methods and placed her reliance in Sri Bhagavan alone.

Once a Sastri from North India was talking with

Sri Bhagavan at Virupaksha Cave when Echammal arrived with food, looking agitated and shivering. When asked what was the matter she said that as she was passing Sadguruswami Cave she thought she saw Sri Bhagavan and a stranger standing beside the path. She continued on her way but heard a voice, "Why go farther up when I am here?" She turned again to look and there was no one there. She hastened on to the Ashram in fear.

"What, Swami!" Sastri exclaimed. "While you are talking to me here you manifest yourself to this lady on the way here and do not show any such sign of Grace to me." And Sri Bhagavan explained that Echammal's visions were due to her constant concentration on him.

She was by no means alone in having visions of Sri Bhagavan though I know of no other case when the vision caused fear. Years later a Western visitor, an elderly gentleman, had come to the Ashram at the foot of the hill. After lunch he set out to explore the hill, but in doing so he lost his way. Tired with the heat and exertion, not knowing which way to go, he was in a desperate plight, when Sri Bhagavan came past and showed him the way back to the Ashram. People were already anxious when he got back and asked him what had happened. "I just went out for a stroll on the hill," he told them, "and got lost. The heat and exertion were a little too much for me and I was in a bad way. I don't know what I should have done but for the fact that Bhagavan happened to come that way and directed me to the Ashram." And they were astonished because Bhagavan had never left the hall.

Rudra Raj Pande, Principal of the Tri-Chandra College at

Katmandu, Nepal, went with a friend to worship at the great temple in town before leaving Tiruvannamalai.

"The inner temple gates were thrown open and my guide took us into the interior, which was rather dark. A small oiled wick-flame was flickering a few yards in front of us. The young voice of my companion shouted `Arunachala'. All my attention was directed to the one purpose of seeing the Image or Lingam [?] (which symbolises the Supreme Lord, eternal and unmanifest) in the Sanctum Sanctorum. But, strange to say, instead of the Lingam [?] I see the image of Maharshi Bhagavan Sri Ramana, his smiling countenance, his brilliant eyes looking at me. And what is more strange, it is not one Maharshi that I see, nor two, nor three -- in hundreds I see the same smiling countenance, those lustrous eyes, I see them wherever I may look in that Sanctum Sanctorum . My eyes catch not the full figure of the Maharshi but only the smiling face, from the chin above. I am in raptures and beside myself with inexpressible joy -- that bliss and calmness of mind I then felt how can words describe? Tears of joy flowed down my cheeks. I went to the temple to see Lord Arunachala and I found the living Lord as he graciously revealed himself. I can never forget the deep intimate experience I had in the ancient temple."1

Nevertheless, Sri Bhagavan never encouraged interest in visions or desire for them, nor did they occur to all devotees or disciples.

One of the most devoted adherents of Sri Bhagavan at this time was Seshadri Swami, the same Seshadri who had kept schoolboys away when he first came to Tiruvannamalai. He now

lived on the hill, lower down than Virupaksha Cave, and paid frequent visits there. He had attained a high spiritual state and had grace and beauty, which shows in the surviving portraits. There was something bird-like and aloof about him. He was not often accessible; he would not always speak, and when he did his speech was often enigmatic. He had left home at the age of seventeen and had received initiation into mantras (sacred formulae) and japa [?] (invocations) that develop occult powers, sometimes sitting up the whole night in a cemetery invoking the Sakti (creative energy).

Not only would he always encourage devotees to go to

Ramanaswami, as he called him, but he would on occasion identify himself with him. He could read thoughts and if Sri Bhagavan had told a devotee anything he would say: "I told you so and so why do you ask again?" or "Why don't you do it?" It was only rarely that he would give initiation into some mantra [?] and if the supplicant was already a devotee of Ramanaswami he would always refuse, bidding him remain there where was the supreme upadesa [?], the silent guidance.

On one rare occasion he actually exhorted a devotee to undertake active sadhana [?], the quest for enlightenment. It was a certain Subramania Mudali who, together with his wife and mother, used to spend most of his income preparing food for sadhus who had renounced the world. Like Echammal, they took food daily to Sri Bhagavan and his Ashram, and to Seshadri Swami too when they could find him, and yet at the same time Subramania was a landowner and was involved in litigation and trying to increase his property. Seshadri Swami, grieving that one so devoted should be so attached, advised him to give up such cares and devote himself entirely to the service of God and to striving for spiritual development. "You see," he said, "my younger brother has an income of Rs.10,000 and I have an income of Rs.1,000; why shouldn't you try to get an income of at least a hundred?" The

`younger brother' was Ramanaswami and the `income' spiritual attainment. When Subramania still held back, Seshadri Swami became insistent and warned him that he was committing the mortal sin of slaying a Brahmin. Having more faith in Sri Bhagavan, Subramania asked him whether this was true, and Sri Bhagavan interpreted, "Yes, you can be said to commit the murder of Brahman by not realizing that you are Brahman."

Seshadri Swami once sat in the Mango Tree Cave gazing fixedly at Sri Bhagavan in order to read his thoughts; however the mind of Sri Bhagavan, merged in the tranquillity of the Spirit, showed no ripple of thought, so he was baffled and said, "It is not clear what this person is thinking."

Sri Bhagavan remained silent. After a pause Seshadri

Swami added, "If one worships the Lord Arunachala he will grant salvation."

And then Bhagavan asked, "Who is it that worships and who is the worshipped?"

Seshadri Swami broke into a laugh, "That is just what is not clear."

Then Sri Bhagavan expounded at length the doctrine of the One Self manifested in all the forms of the universe and yet unmanifested and utterly unchanged by manifestation, the one Reality and the Self of him who worships. Seshadri Swami listened patiently and at the end he rose and said: "I can't say. All this is dark to me. At any rate I worship."

So saying he turned to the crest of the hill and prostrated himself to it again and again and then departed.

And yet Seshadri Swami also would sometimes speak from the standpoint of Unity, seeing all things as manifestations of the Spirit: but from whatever point of view he spoke it was liable to be with a dry, disconcerting humour. One day a certain Narayanaswami found him standing staring at a buffalo and asked, "What is Swami looking at?"

"I am looking at this." "Is it the buffalo Swami is looking at?" he persisted. And then, pointing at the buffalo, Seshadri Swami bade him, "Tell me what this is."

"It is a buffalo," he answered innocently, whereupon

Seshadri Swami burst out: "Is it a buffalo? A buffalo? You buffalo! Call it Brahman!" So saying he turned and went away.

Seshadri Swami died in January 1929. As is the accepted practice in the case of a Saint, his body was not cremated but buried. Sri Bhagavan stood by silently watching. He is still revered at Tiruvannamalai and on the anniversary of his death his portrait is taken in procession through the town.

During the early years that Sri Bhagavan spent on the hill the process of return to outer activity was gradually proceeding. He began to walk about and explore the hill, to read books and write interpretations. A certain Padmanabha Swami, known also as Jatai Swami on account of his matted hair, had an ashram on the hill and kept there a number of Sanskrit books on spiritual knowledge and on applied sciences with a spiritual basis, such as ayurveda [?] (traditional Hindu medicine). Sri Bhagavan would visit him and glance through them, immediately mastering their content and so fixing it in his memory that he could not merely repeat it but give chapter and verse. Padmanabha Swami would often appeal to him as an authority when any point of doctrine was raised.

It is said in the Puranas that on the northern slope of

Arunachala, near the summit, a Siddha [?] Purusha [?] (Sage with supernatural powers) known as Arunagiri Yogi sits beneath a banyan tree, in an almost inaccessible spot, teaching in silence. There is a shrine or mantapam [?] dedicated to him in the Great Temple of Tiruvannamalai. The story indicates that the Grace of Arunachala, guiding men through mouna diksha [?] (silent initiation) on the path of Self-enquiry to Liberation, though ever potent, had become inaccessible to the people of this

spiritually dark age. Nevertheless, the symbolical meaning of the story does not make it any the less true literally. It happened one day, about 1906, that Sri Bhagavan was wandering on the northern slope of the hill when, in a dry watercourse, he saw an enormous banyan leaf, large enough to serve a meal on. Presuming that it must have been carried down by the water and wishing to see the tree which bore such leaves, he set out on a later occasion to climb the water-course up the hillside. After climbing steep and rugged parts of the hill, he reached a place whence he could see a large flat rock and on it the banyan tree he was seeking, enormous and a deep green. He was amazed to see such a tree growing on what looked like bare rock. He continued to climb but, as he was drawing nearer, disturbed a hornets' nest with his leg. The hornets flew out and attacked the offending leg in a fury of revenge. Sri Bhagavan stood still until they had finished, meekly accepting their just punishment for having destroyed their home; but he took this as a sign not to proceed and so returned to the cave. The devotees were getting anxious as he had been out so long. When they saw him they were appalled at the state of his leg, swollen and inflamed. He has since pointed out the position of the almost inaccessible banyan tree but he never again set out to reach it and he discouraged any of his devotees who wished to do so.

A group of devotees, among them an Englishman,

Thomson by name, did once set out determined to find it. After climbing rather recklessly for some time they found themselves in so precarious a position that they dared proceed neither up nor down. They prayed to Bhagavan for help and somehow got back to the Ashram safely. They never tried it again. Others also have made the attempt but without success.

Even though Sri Bhagavan might disapprove of an action it was very seldom that he would explicitly forbid it. Understanding as to what was appropriate or inappropriate had

to come from within. In the present case, it was clearly not appropriate for his devotees to attempt what their Master had refrained from.

There was a time when Sri Bhagavan used to roam the hill frequently as well as climbing to the summit and making pradakshina [?] (circuit), so that he knew every part of it. And then one day, when he was wandering alone, he passed an old woman gathering fuel on the hillside. She looked like a common outcaste woman, but she addressed the young Swami fearlessly, as an equal. Beginning with the rough cursing common to such people, she said: "May you be put on the funeral pyre! Why do you wander about in the sun like that? Why don't you sit quiet?"

"It can have been no ordinary woman," Sri Bhagavan said when he told the devotees about it; "who knows who she was?" Certainly, no ordinary outcaste woman would have dared to speak to a Swami like that. The devotees took it to be a manifestation of Arunagiri Siddha, the Spirit of Arunachala. From that time Sri Bhagavan gave up roaming the hillside.

When Sri Bhagavan first went to Tiruvannamalai he sometimes moved about in a state of trance, as already described. This did not completely end until about 1912 when there was a final and complete experience of death. He set out from Virupaksha Cave one morning for Pachaiamman Koil, accompanied by Palaniswami, Vasudeva Sastri and others. He had an oil-bath there and was nearing Tortoise Rock on the way back when a sudden physical weakness overcame him. He described it fully afterwards.

"The landscape in front of me disappeared as a bright white curtain was drawn across my vision and shut it out. I could distinctly see the gradual process. There was a stage when I could still see a part of the landscape clearly while the rest was covered by the advancing curtain. It was just like drawing a slide across one's view in a stereoscope. On experiencing this I stopped walking lest I should fall. When it cleared I walked on. When darkness and faintness came over me a second time I leaned against a rock until it cleared. The third time it happened I felt it safer to sit, so I sat down near the rock. Then the bright white curtain completely shut off my vision, my head was swimming and my circulation and breathing stopped. The skin turned a livid blue. It was the regular death hue and it got darker and darker. Vasudeva Sastri, in fact, took me to be dead and held me in his arms and began to weep aloud and lament my death.

"I could distinctly feel his clasp and his shivering and hear his words of lamentation and understand their meaning. I also saw the discolouration of my skin and felt the stoppage of my circulation and breathing and the increased chilliness of the extremities of my body. My usual current of awareness still continued in that state also. I was not in the least afraid and felt no sadness at the condition of the body. I had sat down near the rock in my usual posture and closed my eyes and was not leaning against the rock. The body, left without circulation or respiration, still maintained that position. This state continued for some ten or fifteen minutes. Then a shock passed suddenly through the body and circulation revived with enormous force, and breathing also, and the body perspired from every pore. The colour of life reappeared on the skin. I then opened my eyes and got up and said, `Let's go'. We reached Virupaksha Cave without further trouble. This was the only fit I had in which both circulation and respiration stopped."

Later, to correct wrong accounts that began to be spread, he added:

"I did not bring on the fit purposely, nor did I wish to see what this body would look like after death, nor did I say that I will not leave this body without warning others. It was one of those fits that I used to get occasionally, only this time it took a very serious form."

What is, perhaps, most striking about this experience is that it was a repetition, heightened by actual physical demonstration, of that certainty of endurance through death which had constituted Sri Bhagavan's spiritual awakening. It recalls the verse from Thayumanavar, the Tamil classic which Sri Bhagavan often quoted: "When overpowered by the wide Expanse which is without beginning, end or middle, there is the realization of non-dual bliss."

It may be that this marked the final completion of

Sri Bhagavan's return to full outer normality. It is hard to give any impression of how normal and how human he was in his mode of life, and yet it is necessary, for the description of his previous austerity may leave the idea of someone grim and forbidding. On the contrary, his manner was natural and free from all constraint and the newcomer immediately felt at his ease with him. His conversation was full of humour and his laughter so infectious, so like that of a child, that even those who did not understand the language would join in. Everything about him and about the Ashram was clean and tidy. When a regular Ashram had been established, life in it followed a timetable as exact as work in an office. The clocks were kept right to the minute, the calendars were up-to-date. And nothing was wasted. I have seen an attendant reproved for bringing out a new sheet of paper to bind a book when one already cut into

could be made to do. And with food too: not a grain of rice remained on his leaf-plate when he finished eating. Vegetable peelings were saved for the cattle, not thrown away.

There was a spontaneous simplicity and humility about him. One of the few things that aroused a show of anger in him was if those who were serving food gave more of any delicacy to him than to others. He did not like people to rise when he entered the hall but would make a little gesture to them to remain seated. He was walking slowly down the hillside to the Ashram one afternoon, tall, golden-hued, white-haired already and frail, stooping a little and leaning heavily on a staff on account of rheumatism, with him a short, dark attendant. A devotee was coming behind so he drew to the side of the path, saying, "You are younger and walk quicker; you go first." A little courteous action, but so much from Master to disciple.

One could go on endlessly. Some of these points will come up more fittingly later, but now that there is mention of full return to a normal mode of life it has to be indicated how normal, how intensely human and how gracious that mode of life was.


Referred Resources:

Eight Stanzas to Sri Arunachala

7. NON-RESISTANCE

NON-RESISTANCE may seem impracticable in an established religion, since every country must have its law

courts and police and, at least in modern conditions, its army. However, a religion has two levels of obligation: the minimum obligation upon all who follow it and upon countries where it is established, and the full obligation upon those who devote their lives to following the path laid down, regarding all worldly advantages as nothing in the search for blessedness. It is only in this second and higher sense that Sri Bhagavan established a path, and therefore, for himself and his followers, he could say, "resist not evil". It was no social law for a whole community that he was proclaiming but a way of life for those who followed him. It is possible only for those who have submitted to God's

Will and accept whatever comes as right and necessary even though it may be a misfortune from worldly standards. Sri Bhagavan once said to a devotee, "You thank God for the good things that come to you but you don't thank Him for the things that seem to you bad; that is where you go wrong."

It may be objected that this simple faith is very different from the doctrine of Oneness that Sri Bhagavan taught, but it is only on the mental plane that such theories may conflict. He said, "Submission to God, Guru or Self is all that is needed." As will be shown in a later chapter, these three modes of submission are really not different. It is enough to say here that for one who can hold to the view that there is only the One Self all outer activity appears a dream or cinema-show enacted on the substratum of the Self, so that he will remain an impassive witness. This was the attitude of Sri Bhagavan on the few occasions when evil or molestation threatened.

There were tamarind trees outside Gurumurtam and when he was living there he would sometimes sit under one of them. One day, when no one else was about, a party of thieves came to carry away the ripe tamarind pods. Seeing the young Swami sitting silent at the foot of a tree, one of them said, "Get some acid sap and put it in his eyes; let's see if that will make him speak." It is a sap that might blind a man, apart from the fierce pain it would cause, but he sat motionless, equally unconcerned about his eyes and about the tamarind fruit. Another of the party answered: "Oh, don't bother about him! What harm can he do? Let's get along."

There was occasional interference or opposition during the early years on the Hill. In the strange world of sadhus, where some are frauds and some have striven on the way and developed psychic powers without burning out their lower passions, it was to be expected that the radiance of Divinity recognised by devotees in one so young in years should awaken resentment in a few, though most bowed down and sought his Grace.

Living in a cave on the hill was an elderly sadhu who had shown great reverence for Sri Bhagavan as long as he was at Gurumurtam. After coming to Virupaksha, Sri Bhagavan would sometimes visit him and sit in silence with him. He led a life of austerity and had followers; nevertheless so far was he from having overcome human passions that he could not endure to see the number of the young Swami's followers increase and his own diminish. Deciding to kill Sri Bhagavan or frighten him away from the hill, he took to hiding on the hillside above Virupaksha after sundown and dislodging rocks and stones so that they would roll down there. Sri Bhagavan sat unperturbed although one stone came quite close to him. Always observant, he knew well what was happening and on one occasion he quickly and silently climbed the hill and caught the old man in the act. Even then the latter tried to laugh it off as a joke.

Having failed in this attempt, the sadhu enlisted the aid of

Balananda, a plausible scoundrel, handsome and well read, who imposed on people under the guise of a sadhu. This person decided to make profit and prestige out of Sri Bhagavan. Rightly deeming that the young Swami would be too saintly to resist evil, he started posing as his Guru. He would say to visitors: "This young Swami is my disciple," or "Yes, give the child some sweets"; and to Sri Bhagavan, "Here, Venkataraman, my child, take the sweets." Or he would keep up the farce by going into town to buy things for his so-called disciple. Such was his effrontery that he would say blatantly to Sri Bhagavan when alone with him: "I will say I am your Guru and get money from the visitors. It is no loss to you so don't contradict me."

This man's arrogance and offensiveness knew no bounds and one night he went to the length of relieving himself on the veranda of the cave. Next morning he went out early leaving his spare clothes some of them silk with lace borders in the cave. Sri

Bhagavan said nothing. He went on a long walk to one of the sacred tanks that morning with Palaniswami and before they started Palaniswami washed the veranda, threw out Balananda's clothes and locked up the cave.

Balananda was furious when he returned. He stormed at

Palaniswami for daring to touch his clothes and ordered Sri Bhagavan to send him away immediately. Neither of them answered or paid any attention. In his fury Balananda spat on Sri Bhagavan. Even then Sri Bhagavan sat impassive. The disciples who were with him also sat quiet without reacting. However, a devotee from a cave lower down heard of it and rushed up shouting: "You! You dare spit on our Swami!" and could barely be restrained from setting upon the rascal. Balananda decided that he had gone farther than was safe and had better leave Tiruvannamalai. He pronounced the hill not a proper place and departed with his usual arrogance. Going to the railway station he entered a second-class compartment without a ticket. A young couple were in the same compartment. He began to lecture the young man and order him about and when the latter took no notice he became offensive and said: "What! you don't listen to me? It is because of your infatuation with this girl that you don't show me due respect." The incensed young man thereupon took off his sandal and used it to give him the thrashing he had so long needed.

After some months Balananda returned and again made himself a nuisance. On one occasion he insisted on sitting looking fixedly into the eyes of Sri Bhagavan in order, as he averred, to give him nirvikalpa samadhi [?] (spiritual trance), but what happened was that he himself fell asleep and Sri Bhagavan and his disciples got up and walked away. Soon after this the general attitude towards him became such that he once more deemed it safer to depart.

There was another `sadhu' also who tried to gain prestige by posing as the young Swami's Guru. Returning from Kalahasti, he said: "I have come all this way just to see how you are getting on. I will initiate you into the Dattatreya mantra."

Sri Bhagavan neither moved nor spoke, so he continued, "God appeared to me in a dream and ordered me to give you this upadesa [?]."

"Well then," Sri Bhagavan retorted, "let God appear to me also in a dream and order me to take the upadesa [?] and I will take it."

"No, it is very short -- just a few letters; you can begin now." "What use will your upadesa [?] be to me unless I go on with the japa [?] (invocation)? Find a suitable disciple for it. I am not one."

Some time later, when this sadhu was in meditation, a vision of Sri Bhagavan appeared before him and said, "Don't be deceived!" Frightened and thinking that Sri Bhagavan must possess powers which he was using against him, the sadhu hastened to Virupaksha to apologise and begged to be set free from the apparition. Sri Bhagavan assured him that he used no powers and the sadhu saw there was no anger or resentment.

Another such attempt at interference was by a group of drunken sadhus. Appearing one day at Virupaksha Cave, they solemnly declared: "We are sadhus from Podikai Hill, the sacred hill on which the ancient Agastya Rishi is still doing tapas [?] (practising austerities) as he has for thousands of years. He has ordered us to take you first to the Siddhas' Conference at Srirangam and from there to Podikai to give you regular diksha [?] (initiation) after extracting from your body those salts that prevent your attaining higher powers."

Sri Bhagavan, as on all such occasions, made no response.

However, on this occasion, one of his devotees, Perumalswami, outbluffed the bluffers. He said, "We have already received intimation of your coming and have been commissioned to

put your bodies in crucibles and heat the crucibles over a fire." And turning to another devotee he bade him, "Go and dig a pit where we can make a fire for these people." The visitors left in a hurry.

In 1924, when Sri Bhagavan was already living in the present Ashram at the foot of the hill, some thieves broke into the shed that at that time housed his mother's samadhi [?] and carried away a few things. A few weeks later three thieves robbed the Ashram itself.

It was on June 26th, at about half past eleven. The night was dark. Sri Bhagavan had already retired to rest on the raised platform in the hall in front of the Mother's samadhi [?]. Four devotees were sleeping on the floor near the windows. Two of them, Kunjuswami and Mastan, the former an attendant, heard someone outside say, "There are six persons lying down inside."

Kunju shouted out, "Who's there?" The thieves replied by breaking a window, apparently to frighten those inside. Kunjuswami and Mastan got up and went to the dais where Sri Bhagavan was. The thieves thereupon broke a window at that side, but Sri Bhagavan sat unperturbed. Kunjuswami then left the hall by the north door, as the thieves were on the south side, and brought Ramakrishnaswami, a devotee who was sleeping in another hut, to help them. When he opened the door the two Ashram dogs, Jackie and Karuppan, ran out. The thieves beat them and Jackie and ran away while Karuppan ran back to the hall for refuge.

Sri Bhagavan told the thieves that there was very little for them to take but they were welcome to come in and take what there was. Either considering this a trap or being too stupid to depart from routine, they took no notice but continued their efforts to dislodge a window-frame so as to get in that way. (According to the usual Indian practice, the windows had iron bars to prevent anyone getting in). Angered by their wanton

destruction, Ramakrishnaswami sought Bhagavan's permission to challenge them, but Bhagavan forbade him, saying: "They have their dharma [?] (role), we have ours. It is for us to bear and forbear. Let us not interfere with them."

Though Sri Bhagavan invited them to enter by the door, the thieves continued their violent methods. They let off crackers at the window to give the impression that they had firearms. Again they were told to enter and take what they wanted but they only replied with threats. Meanwhile Kunjuswami had left the hall and set out for town to get help.

Ramakrishnaswami again spoke to the thieves and told them not to make unnecessary trouble but simply to take what they wanted. In reply they threatened to set fire to the thatched room. Sri Bhagavan told them they should not do that but offered to go out and leave the hall to them. This was just what they wanted, perhaps still fearing that the others might set upon them while they were at their work. Sri Bhagavan first told Ramakrishnaswami to carry the dog, Karuppan, to a safe place in the other shed for fear the thieves would beat it if it were left there. Then he with the three others, Mastan, Thangavelu Pillai and Munisami, a boy who performed puja or worship at the Ashram, left by the north door. The thieves stood at the doorway with sticks and beat them as they went out, either hoping to disable them or to frighten them from any thought of resistance. Sri Bhagavan, receiving a blow on the left thigh, said, "If you are not satisfied you can strike the other leg also." Ramakrishnaswami, however, got back in time to ward off further blows.

Sri Bhagavan and the devotees sat in the thatched shed

(later demolished) that stood to the north of the hall. The thieves shouted to them to stay there. "If you move away we'll break your heads!"

Sri Bhagavan told them, "You have the entire hall to yourselves; do what you like."

One of the thieves came and demanded a hurricane lamp and Ramakrishnaswami, on Sri Bhagavan's instructions, gave him a lighted lamp. Again one of them came and asked for the cupboard keys but Kunjuswami had taken them away with him and he was told so. They broke open the cupboards and found there a few thin strips of silver for adorning the images, a few mangoes and a little rice altogether worth about Rs.10. A sum of Rs.6 belonging to Thangavelu Pillai was also taken.

Disappointed with their small takings, one of the thieves returned, brandishing his stick and asking: `Where is your money? Where do you keep that?"

Sri Bhagavan told him, "We are poor sadhus living on charity and never have cash," and the thief, despite his continued blustering, had to be satisfied with that.

Sri Bhagavan advised Ramakrishnaswami and the others to go and put ointment on their bruises.

"And what about Swami?" Ramakrishnaswami asked. Sri Bhagavan laughed and replied, "I also have received some puja," punning on the word that could mean either `worship' or `blows'.

Seeing the weal on his thigh, Ramakrishnaswami felt a sudden wave of anger. He picked up an iron bar that was lying there and asked for permission to go and see what the thieves were doing, but Sri Bhagavan dissuaded him. "We are sadhus. We should not give up our dharma [?]. If you go and strike them some may die and that will be a matter for which the world will rightly blame not them but us. They are only misguided men and are blinded by ignorance, but let us note what is right and stick to it. If your teeth suddenly bite your tongue do you knock them out in consequence?"

It was two o'clock in the morning when the thieves left. A little later Kunjuswami returned with a village officer and two police constables. Sri Bhagavan was still sitting in the northern shed, speaking to his devotees of spiritual matters. The constables asked him what had happened and he simply remarked that some foolish persons had broken into the Ashram and gone away disappointed at finding nothing worth their trouble. The constables made an entry to this effect and went away together with the village officer. Munisami ran after them and told them that the Swami and others had been beaten by the thieves. In the morning the Circle Inspector, Sub-Inspector and a Head Constable came to investigate and later the Deputy Superintendent came. Sri Bhagavan spoke to none about his injury or about the theft except when asked. A few days later some of the stolen property was recovered and the thieves were arrested and sentenced to terms of imprisonment.


8. THE MOTHER

SHORTLY AFTER Sri Bhagavan's mother returned from her unsuccessful attempt to win him back to her in 1900, she

lost her eldest son. Two years later the youngest son, Nagasundaram, still only a lad of seventeen, went to Tiruvannamalai for the first time to see his Swami brother. So overcome was he that he embraced him and wept aloud; Sri Bhagavan sat silent, unmoved. The mother came once for a brief visit on her return from a pilgrimage to Benares. In 1914 she went on a pilgrimage to Venkataramanaswami Shrine at Tirupati and again stayed at Tiruvannamalai on her way back. This time she fell ill there and suffered severely for several weeks with symptoms of typhoid. Sri Bhagavan tended her with great solicitude. The verses he composed during her sickness are the only instance known of any prayer of his to influence the course of events.

Oh Lord! Hill of my refuge, who curest the ills of recurrent births, it is for Thee to cure my mother's fever.

Oh God who slayest death! Reveal Thy feet in the

Heart-Lotus of her who bore me to take refuge at Thy Lotus- Feet, and shield her from death. What is death if scrutinised?

Arunachala, Thou blazing fire of Knowledge! Enfold my mother in Thy Light and make her one with Thee. What need then for cremation?

Arunachala, Dispeller of illusion! Why dost Thou delay to dispel my mother's delirium? Is there any but Thee to watch as a Mother over one who has sought refuge in Thee and to rescue from the tyranny of karma?

Ostensibly a prayer for the mother to be saved from her fever, this was in reality a prayer to save her also from the vaster fever of illusion and gather her back into Oneness with the Self in Liberation from the delirium of life.

Needless to say, Alagammal recovered. She returned to

Manamadura, but after this prayer circumstances conspired to draw her back from the life of the world to that of the Ashram.

The family house at Tiruchuzhi had been sold to meet debts and pay necessary expenses. Her brother-in-law, Nelliappier, had died, leaving the family in none too easy circumstances. In 1915 the wife of her youngest son, Nagasundaram, died, leaving a young son who was adopted by his aunt Alamelu, now married. Alagammal began to feel that the only place left for her in her old age was with her Swami son. Early in 1916 she went to Tiruvannamalai.

At first she stayed for a few days with Echammal. Some of the devotees were against her staying with Sri Bhagavan, fearing that he might leave his abode in silent protest, as he had left home in 1896. However, there was a great difference, for now it was she who had renounced home, not he who was detained there. The majesty of Sri Bhagavan was so awe-inspiring that,

despite his gracious manner, when a question like this arose as to what he would wish none presumed to ask him directly. Even if any did he might sit unmoved, not replying, for he had no wishes. The wish for the mother's recovery expressed in his verses is something quite exceptional.

Soon after his mother came to stay with him, Sri Bhagavan moved from Virupaksha to Skandashram, a little higher up the hill and directly above Virupaksha. This is a much more spacious cave and was constructed for him to occupy. Finding a damp patch of rock there he rightly guessed that there must be a concealed spring. This was released by digging and yielded a perennial flow of water, enough for all Ashram needs, even for a small garden that was made in front of the Cave. The mother began to prepare meals, and so began a new epoch in Ashram life.

Wishing to draw her younger son also to the Ashram,

Alagammal sent a devotee to summon him there. He gave up the job he had at Tiruvengadu and went to live at Tiruvannamalai. At first he stayed in town, taking food at the house of some friend or other and daily visiting the Ashram. Before long he took the vow of renunciation and donned the ochre robe under the name of Niranjanananda Swami, although he was more often known familiarly as `Chinnaswami', the `Little Swami', through being the brother of the Swami. For a while he still went daily to beg his food in town, but then it seemed incongruous to the devotees that the Swami's own brother should go and beg when there was food for all at the Ashram and he was prevailed upon so settle there.

It was almost as though Sri Bhagavan had reverted to family life, the family having extended to embrace all his devotees; and indeed, he did sometimes refer to them as the family. It was the apparent incongruity of this that at first deterred both his mother and his brother from coming to live with him. Seshadri Swami once referred to it in his droll manner. A visitor who had stopped to see him wanted to continue up the hill to see Ramanaswami

and: "Yes," he said, "go and see. There is a householder up there. You will be given sugar cakes (laddus) there."

The point of Seshadri Swami's joke is that it has been usual to consider the state of a householder lower than that of a sadhu, since a sadhu can devote himself entirely to the quest, whereas a householder has worldly preoccupations to attend to. The very act of renouncing home and property is looked upon as a great step forward. Therefore many a devotee asked Sri Bhagavan whether he should make the renunciation. Sri Bhagavan always discouraged it. In the case given below he explained that renunciation is not a withdrawal but a widening of love.

Devotee: I am inclined to give up my job and remain always

with Sri Bhagavan.

Bhagavan: Bhagavan is always with you, in you. The Self in you

is Bhagavan. It is that you should realize.

D: But I feel the urge to give up all attachments and renounce

the world as a sannyasin.

B: Renunciation does not mean outward divestment of clothes

and so on or abandonment of home. True renunciation is the renunciation of desires, passions and attachments.

D: But single-minded devotion to God may not be possible

unless one leaves the world.

B: No; one who truly renounces actually merges in the world and

expands his love to embrace the whole world. It would be more correct to describe the attitude of the devotee as universal love than as abandoning home to don the ochre robe.

D: At home the bonds of affection are too strong.

B: He who renounces when he is not yet ripe for it only creates

new bonds.

D: Is not renunciation the supreme means of breaking attachments?

B: It may be so for one whose mind is already free from

entanglements. But you have not grasped the deeper

import of renunciation: great souls who have abandoned the life of the world have done so not out of aversion to family life but because of their large-hearted and all- embracing love for all mankind and all creatures.

D: The family ties will have to go some time so why shouldn't I

take the initiative and break them now so that my love can be equal to all?

B: When you really feel that equal love for all, when your heart has

so expanded as to embrace the whole of creation, you will certainly not feel like giving up this or that; you will simply drop off from secular life as a ripe fruit does from the branch of a tree. You will feel that the whole world is your home.

It is no wonder that such questions came frequently and that many were surprised at the answers they got, because Sri Bhagavan's attitude was contrary to the traditionally accepted point of view. Although the spiritual truths handed down through the ages never vary, the Masters do adapt the modes of training leading to realization of Truth to suit the changed conditions of the age. In the modern world there are many for whom renunciation or even full observance of orthodoxy is impossible. There are devotees who are businessmen, office workers, doctors, lawyers, engineers, bound in one way or another to the life and manners of a modern city, and yet are seeking Liberation.

The explanation that Sri Bhagavan most frequently gave was that true renunciation is in the mind and is neither achieved by physical renunciation nor impeded by the lack of it.

"Why do you think that you are a householder? Similar thoughts that you are a sannyasin will haunt you even if you go out as one. Whether you continue in the household or renounce it and go to the jungle, it is your mind that haunts you. The ego is the source of thought. It creates the body and the world and it makes you think you are a householder. If you renounce you will only substitute the thought of renunciation for that of household and the environment of the jungle for that of the home. But the mental obstacles are always there for you. They even increase greatly in the new surroundings. It is no help to change the environment. The one obstacle is the mind and it must be overcome whether in the home or the jungle. If you can do it in the jungle why not in the home? Therefore why change the environment? Your efforts can be made even now, whatever be the environment."

He also explained that it is not the work done that is an obstacle to sadhana [?] but only the attitude of mind in which it is done, and that it is possible to continue one's normal avocation, only without attachment. "The feeling `I work' is the obstacle," he said in Maharshi's Gospel; "ask yourself who works. Remember who you are. Then the work will not bind you. It will go on automatically." In Day by Day with Bhagavan by Devaraja Mudaliar a fuller explanation is recorded.

"It is possible to perform all the activities of life with detachment and regard only the Self as real. It is wrong to suppose that if one is fixed in the Self one's duties in life will not be properly performed. It is like an actor. He dresses and acts and even feels the part he is playing, but he knows really that he is not that character but someone else in real life. In the same way, why should the body- consciousness or the feeling `I-am-the-body' disturb you once you know for certain that you are not the body but the Self? Nothing that the body does should shake you from abidance in the Self. Such abidance will never interfere with the proper and effective discharge of whatever duties the body has, any more than the actor's being aware of his real status in life interferes with his acting a part on the stage."

Just as meditation or remembrance, whichever one calls it, does not impair the work done, so also work done does not impair meditation. Sri Bhagavan explained this clearly in a conversation with Paul Brunton.

B: The life of action need not be renounced. If you meditate for

an hour or two every day you can then carry on with your duties. If you meditate in the right manner, then the current of mind induced will continue to flow even in the midst of your work. It is as though there were two ways of expressing the same idea; the same line which you take in meditation will be expressed in your activities.

PB: What will be the result of doing that?

B: As you go on you will find that your attitude towards people,

events and objects will gradually change. Your actions will tend to follow your meditation of their own accord.

A man should surrender the personal selfishness which binds him to this world. Giving up the false self is the true renunciation.

PB: How is it possible to become selfless while leading a life of

worldly activity?

B: There is no conflict between work and wisdom.

PB: Do you mean that one can continue all the old activities, in

one's profession, for instance, and at the same time get Enlightenment?

B: Why not? But in that case one will not think that it is the old

personality which is doing the work because one's consciousness will gradually become transformed until it enters in That which is beyond the little self.

Many were puzzled at first by the injunction to work with detachment and wondered whether their work really could be carried on efficiently in such a way. And yet they had before them the example of Sri Bhagavan himself, for whatever he did was

meticulously accurate, whether correcting proofs or binding a book, whether preparing food or cutting and polishing a coconut- shell spoon. And in fact, even before the I-am-the-doer illusion has been dissipated, an aloof attitude to work does not impair but enhance efficiency, so long as it is combined with conscientiousness, for it does not imply indifference to the quality of the work done but only non-intrusion of ego into it; and it is the intrusion of ego that causes both friction and inefficiency. If all people were to perform their work simply because it is their work, without vanity or self-interest, exploitation would cease, effort would be rightly directed, co-ordination would replace rivalry, and most of the world's problems would be solved. That the efficiency of the work done would not suffer is apparent if one remembers that the ages of faith in every religion have produced the most exquisite art, whether in Gothic, cathedral or in mosque, whether Hindu sculpture or Taoist painting, by artists who regarded themselves as instruments and preferred to remain anonymous. Examples can be drawn from other professions also. A doctor works more efficiently when he is unemotional and indeed, for this reason, often prefers not to treat his own family. A financier works more coolly and efficiently where his own interests are not at stake. Even in games, fortune favours one who is unconcerned.

The injunction to continue home life sometimes led to the objection that Sri Bhagavan himself had left his home. To this he would answer curtly that every man acts according to his prarabdha [?] (destiny). However, it does call for consideration that the full outer normality and participation in the daily routine of life which Sri Bhagavan exemplified so perfectly in later years and which he enjoined upon his followers was not possible for himself immediately after the Awakening at his uncle's house at Madura. The answer is that what had become possible for Sri Bhagavan he, by his Grace, makes possible for those who follow him.

To return to the mother: it was a severe training that she received. Often enough Sri Bhagavan would ignore her, not answering when she spoke, although he took notice of others. If she complained he would say, "All women are my mothers, not you only." One is reminded of Christ's saying when he was told that his mother and brothers were standing at the edge of the crowd, waiting to speak to him, "Whoever does the will of my Father Who is in heaven is my brother and sister and mother." At first Sri Bhagavan's mother would often weep with vexation but gradually understanding developed in her. The feeling of superiority in being the mother of the Swami fell away, the sense of ego was weakened and she devoted herself to the service of the devotees.

Even now, he would still make fun of her orthodox scruples.

If her sari happened to touch a non-Brahmin he would exclaim in mock consternation: "Look! Purity is gone! Religion is gone!" The Ashram food was strictly vegetarian, but Alagammal, like some very devout Brahmins, went still further and considered some vegetables also unsattvic1 (impure), and Sri Bhagavan would say mockingly: "Mind that onion! It is a great obstacle to Moksha (Deliverance)!"

It should be said here that Sri Bhagavan did not disapprove of orthodoxy in general. In this case there was excessive attachment to the forms of orthodoxy and that was what he attacked. In general he laid stress on the importance of sattvic [?] (pure) food. He did not often give any injunctions at all concerning outer activity; his usual method was to sow the spiritual seed in the heart and leave it to shape the outer life as it grew. The injunctions came from within. One Western devotee was an out-and-out meat-eater when he arrived, looking upon meat as the real substance of a meal as well as the most tasty

part, and, with no word spoken on the subject, the time came when he felt an aversion to the very idea of eating meat.

It should be explained in parenthesis, for non-Hindu readers, that the practice of vegetarianism is not only out of disinclination to take life or eat flesh, though that is one reason for it; it is also because unsattvic food (which includes some kinds of vegetables as well as meat) tends to increase animal passions and impede spiritual effort.

There were other ways also in which the mother was made to realize that he who had been born her son was a Divine Incarnation. Once as she sat before him he disappeared and she saw instead a lingam (column) of pure light. Thinking this to mean that he had discarded his human form, she burst into tears, but soon the lingam vanished and he reappeared as before. On another occasion she saw him garlanded and surrounded with serpents like the conventional representations of Siva. She cried to him: "Send them away! I am frightened of them!"

After this she begged him to appear to her henceforth only in his human form. The purpose of the visions had been served; she had realized that the form she knew and loved as her son was as illusory as any other he might assume.

In 1920 the health of the mother began to fail. She was able to work less in the service of the Ashram and was obliged to rest more. During her illness Sri Bhagavan attended on her constantly, often sitting up at night with her. In silence and meditation her understanding matured.

The end came in 1922 on the festival of Bahula Navami, which fell that year on May 19th. Sri Bhagavan and a few others waited on her the whole day without eating. About sunset a meal was prepared and Sri Bhagavan asked the others to go and eat, but he himself did not. In the evening a group of devotees sat chanting the Vedas beside her while others invoked the name of Ram. For more than two hours she lay there, her chest heaving

and her breath coming in loud gasps, and all this while Sri Bhagavan sat beside her, his right hand on her heart and his left on her head. This time there was no question of prolonging life but only of quieting the mind so that death could be Mahasamadhi [?], absorption in the Self.

At eight o'clock in the evening she was finally released from the body. Sri Bhagavan immediately rose, quite cheerful. "Now we can eat," he said; "come along, there is no pollution."

There was deep meaning in this. A Hindu death entails ritualistic pollution calling for purificatory rites, but this had not been a death but a reabsorption. There was no disembodied soul but perfect Union with the Self and therefore no purificatory rites were needed. Some days later Sri Bhagavan confirmed this: when someone referred to the passing away of the mother he corrected him curtly, "She did not pass away, she was absorbed."

Describing the process afterwards, he said: "Innate tendencies and the subtle memory of past experiences leading to future possibilities became very active. Scene after scene rolled before her in the subtle consciousness, the outer senses having already gone. The soul was passing through a series of experiences, thus avoiding the need for rebirth and making possible Union with the Spirit. The soul was at last disrobed of the subtle sheaths before it reached the final Destination, the Supreme Peace of Liberation from which there is no return to ignorance."

Potent as was the aid given by Sri Bhagavan, it was the saintliness of Alagammal, her previous renunciation of pride and attachment, that enabled her to benefit by it. He said later: "Yes, in her case it was a success; on a previous occasion I did the same for Palaniswami when the end was approaching, but it was a failure. He opened his eyes and passed away." He added, however, that it was not a complete failure in the case of Palaniswami, for although the ego was not reabsorbed in the Self, the manner of its going was such as to indicate a good rebirth.

Often when devotees suffered bereavement Sri Bhagavan reminded them that it is only the body that dies and only the I-am-the-body illusion that makes death seem a tragedy. Now, at the time of his own bereavement, he showed no grief whatever. The whole night he and the devotees sat up singing devotional songs. This indifference to his mother's physical death is the real commentary on his prayer at the time of her previous sickness.

The question arose of the disposal of the body. There was the testimony of Bhagavan himself that she had been absorbed into the Self and not remained to be reborn to the illusion of ego, but some doubt was felt whether the body of a woman Saint should be given burial instead of being cremated. Then it was recalled that in 1917 this very point had formed part of a series of questions put to Sri Bhagavan by Ganapati Sastri and his party and that he had answered affirmatively. "Since Jnana [?] (Knowledge) and Mukti [?] (Deliverance) do not differ with the difference of sex, the body of a woman Saint also need not be burnt. Her body also is the abode of God."

In the case of her leaving the Ashram as in that of her joining it, none presumed to ask Sri Bhagavan himself for a decision, nor did he pronounce one. It seems not to have occurred to them that the answer had been given in his prayer of 1914: "Enfold my Mother in Thy Light and make her One with Thee! What need then for cremation?"

Sri Bhagavan stood silently looking on without participating. The body of the mother was interred at the foot of the hill at the southern point, between the Palitirtham Tank and the Dakshinamurti Mantapam (shrine). Relatives and friends arrived for the ceremony and large crowds came from the town. Sacred ashes, camphor, incense, were thrown into the pit around the body before it was filled up. A stone tomb was constructed and on it was installed a sacred lingam brought from Benares.

Later a temple was raised on the spot, finally completed in 1949 and known as Matrubhuteswara Temple, the Temple of God Manifested as the Mother.

As the coming of the mother had marked an epoch in

Ashram life, so also did her departure. Instead of being checked, the development increased. There were devotees who felt that, as Shakti or Creative Energy, her presence was more potent now than before. On one occasion Sri Bhagavan said: "Where has she gone? She is here."

Niranjanananda Swami took up his residence at the foot of the hill near the samadhi [?] in a thatched building that was raised there. Sri Bhagavan remained at Skandashram but almost every day he would come down the hillside to the samadhi [?], about half an hour's walk away. Then one day, about six months later, he went out for a walk and, as he was walking, felt a powerful impulse to go down to the samadhi [?] and remain there. When he did not return the devotees followed him there and thus was founded Sri Ramanashram. "It was not of my own volition that I moved from Skandashram," he said later, "something brought me here and I obeyed. It was not my decision but the Divine Will."