dreams/visions

[Guest guest]

The following fascinating story ends with an interesting dream/vision.

Thought it may make for good reading.

Harsha

How The Maharshi Came To MeBy Chhaganlal V. Yogi

It was in this darkest period of my life that I first heard of Sri

Ramana Maharshi. At that time I seemed to be heading swiftly towards

total scepticism. The world appeared to me to be full of injustice,

cruelty, greed, hate and other evils, the existence of which

logically led me to a strong disbelief in God. For, I argued, did He

truly exist, could anything dark or evil ever have flourished? Doubt

upon doubt assailed me like dark shadows which dogged my footsteps. I

had, as a consequence, lost whatever little reverence I might have had

for sadhus and sannyasins. I found myself slowly but surely losing my

interest in religion. The very word itself eventually became a

synonym in my mind for a clever ruse to delude the credulity of the

world. In short, I began to live a life lacking optimism and faith. I

was not happy in my disbelief, for my mind took on the aspect of

turbulent waters, and I felt that all around me there was raging a

scorching fire which seemed to burn up my very entrails.

One day, while travelling as usual on the train to the office, I

happened to meet a friend who had spent over a decade in Europe and

America. I hadn't met him for quite a long time and sometimes used to

wonder where he had disappeared to. In answer to a query about his

recent activities he said that he had been to Sri Ramanasramam and

immediately launched into a description of what went on there. While

he was trying to describe to me his experience of the darshan of Sri

Bhagavan he drew out from his pocket a small packet which he extended

to me. I wondered what it contained. He explained that it contained

something extremely precious - some vibhuti, holy ashes brought from

the ashram. He insisted on my accepting them. His kind invitation did

not interest me in the least. On the other hand, it amused me.

I said scornfully, "Pardon me, but I think that all this sort of thing

is mere sham and humbug, so I trust you will not misunderstand me if I

refuse to accept."

He then argued that by refusing his gift, I was not merely insulting

him, I was also insulting the vibhuti.

I thought that this was rather comical, but to placate him I replied,

"Well, if that be so, to please you I will take a pinch of these

ashes on the condition that you will allow me to do whatever I like

with them."

Unsuspectingly, he nodded his head in assent and passed the packet

over to me. A smile appeared on his lips as he watched me take a

pinch out of it. This smile was the preface to a zealous exposition

on Sri Bhagavan and his miraculous greatness. While he was lost in

his missionary enthusiasm, I surreptitiously let the ashes fall onto

the floor of the compartment. To be quite frank, it was a relief when

my friend had concluded what I had then considered to be a puerile and

unnecessary lecture. At the end of it I remarked, "I have an utter

contempt for these so-called saints."

My friend refused to give up. He insisted on impressing on me that Sri

Ramana Maharshi was not a 'so-called' saint, but an authentic sage

acknowledged as such by great savants all over the world. He

suggested that for my own benefit I read about him in some of the

available literature. To start me off he gave me a book entitled Sri

Maharshi, which had been written by Sri Kamath, the editor of The

Sunday Times in Madras.

I must confess that despite my prejudices the book evoked in me an

interest in Sri Bhagavan. After completing this small book, I was

sufficiently curious to borrow another book about him from a

different friend. It was the second edition of Self-Realisation, the

earliest full-length biography of Sri Bhagavan. From then on, my

interest grew without my being aware of it. A little later I felt

compelled to write to Sri Ramanasramam to ask for all the literature

on Sri Bhagavan that was available in English. As I began to study it

with great avidity, I found that my outlook on life began to undergo a

subtle transformation, but only a partial one. At the back of my mind

there still lurked a heavy doubt, resembling a cloud, that stained

the gathering illumination. My old scepticism did not wish to yield

place so easily to this new faith, which was apparently being

inculcated in my mind. My scepticism tried to challenge my new faith

by arguing, "So many books are wonderful to read, but their authors,

more often than not, are not as wonderful to know. It is possible for

men to teach truths which they are unable to live themselves. What,

then, is the use of books, however wonderful?"

To counter this doubt I decided to correspond directly with Sri

Bhagavan. Over the next few months I wrote several letters to him,

all of which were answered by his ashram with a rare punctuality.

However, although they breathed the teachings of the Master, they

hardly gave me a glimpse into the nature of the daily life lived by

him. Because of this I began to be haunted by a desire to visit the

ashram to see for myself what went on there. To fulfil that desire I

paid my first visit to Sri Ramanasramam in the Christmas holiday of

1938.

At first I was terribly disappointed because nothing seemed to strike

me in the way I had expected. I found Sri Bhagavan seated on a couch,

as quiet and unmoving as a statue. His presence did not seem to

emanate anything unusual, and I was very disappointed to discover

that he displayed no interest in me at all. I had expected warmth and

intimacy, but unfortunately I seemed to be in the presence of someone

who lacked both.

>From morning till evening I sat waiting to catch a glimpse of his

grace, of his interest in me, a stranger who had come all the way

from Bombay, but I evoked no response. Sri Bhagavan merely seemed

cold and unaffected. After pinning such hopes on him, his apparent

lack of interest nearly broke my heart. Eventually, I decided to

leave the ashram, knowing full well that if I did, I would be more

sceptical and hard-headed that before.

The Veda Parayana was chanted every evening in Sri Bhagavan's

presence. It was considered to be one of the most attractive items in

the daily program of the ashram, but in my depressed state it fell

flat on my ears. It was the evening of the day that I had decided to

leave. The sun was setting like a sad farewell, spreading a darkness

over both the hill and my heart. The gloom deepened until the

neighbourhood disappeared into the blackness of the night. In my

sensitive state the electric light which was switched on in the hall

seemed like a living wound on the body of the darkness. My mind,

which was deeply tormented, felt that the psychic atmosphere in the

hall was stuffy and choking. Unable to bear it any longer, I walked

outside to get a breath of fresh air. A young man called Gopalan came

up to me and asked me where I had come from.

"Bombay," I replied.

He asked me if I had been introduced to the Master, and when I replied

that I had not, he was most surprised. He immediately led me to the

office, introduced me to the Sarvadhikari and then proceeded with me

to the hall where he introduced me to Sri Bhagavan. When he heard my

name Sri Bhagavan's eyes turned to me, looked straight into mine and

twinkled like stars. With a smile beaming with grace he asked me if I

were a Gujerati. I replied that I was. Immediately he sent for a copy

of the Gujerati translation by Sri Kishorelal Mashruwala of Upadesa

Saram, a few copies of which had only just arrived. He then asked me

to chant the Gujerati verses from the book.

"But I am not a singer," I answered, hesitating to begin. But when it

became clear that I was expected to perform, I got over my initial

hesitation and began to chant verses from the book. I had sung about

fifteen when the bell for the evening meal rang. All the time I was

chanting I could feel Sri Bhagavan keenly observing me. It seemed

that the light of his eyes was suffusing my consciousness, even

without my being conscious of it. His silent gaze brought about a

subtle but definite transformation in me. The darkness, which a few

minutes before had seemed heavy and unbearable, gradually lightened

and melted into a glow of well-being. My erstwhile sadness completely

disappeared, leaving in my heart an inexplicable emotion of joy. My

limbs appeared to have been washed in an ocean-tide of freedom.

That evening I sat close to Sri Bhagavan in the dining room. In my

exalted state the food I ate seemed to have an unusual and unearthly

taste. I quite literally felt that I was participating in some

heavenly meal in the direct presence of God. After having such an

experience I, of course, abandoned all thought of leaving the ashram

that night. I stayed on for three days longer in order to widen the

sacred and extraordinary experience which had already begun, an

experience of divine grace which I felt would lead me in the

direction of spiritual liberation.

During the three days of my stay in the proximity of the Divine

Master, I found my whole outlook entirely changed. After that short

period I could find little evidence of my old self, a self which had

been tied down with all kinds of preconceptions and prejudices. I

felt that I had lost the chains which bind the eyes of true vision. I

became aware that the whole texture of my mind had undergone a change.

The colours of the world seemed different, and even the ordinary

daylight took on an ethereal aspect. I began to see the foolishness

and the futility of turning my gaze only on the dark side of life.

In those few days Sri Bhagavan, the divine magician, opened up for me

a strange new world of illumination, hope and joy. I felt that his

presence on earth alone constituted sufficient proof that humanity,

suffering and wounded because of its obstinate ignorance, could be

uplifted and saved. For the first time I fully understood the

significance of 'darshan'.

While I lay in bed in the guest room of the ashram, the encounter

which had taken place on the train in Bombay replayed itself in my

mind. I recalled the blind audacity which had prompted me to drop the

thrice-holy vibhuti in contempt onto the floor of the railway

carriage. Today, even one speck of such vibhuti is a treasure to me.

"O Master," I thought to myself, "what a miracle of transformation!

Why did it take half a lifetime before I could meet you? Half a

lifetime of blundering, of failing and falling. But I suppose, my

Master, that you would say that time is a mental concept. For I feel

that in your sight your bhaktas have, throughout all time, always

been with you and near you. As these thoughts were passing through my

mind, I slowly fell into a deep sleep. The next morning I arose in a

rejuvenated state; there was a new vigour in my limbs and an

awareness that my heart was permeated with light. On the third day of

my visit I sadly took leave of Sri Bhagavan. I was still human enough,

still caught in the sense of time and space, for the parting to leave

me with a feeling of aching and emptiness in the heart. But there was

no despair. Something assured me that I would be returning to the feet

of the Master sooner than I could imagine.

My intuition turned out to be correct. In the following years repeated

visits seemed to be miraculously and easily arranged by the Master. He

seemed to know that I felt an occasional need to be close to him

physically. In the years that followed, each succeeding visit

deepened the light within, toned up my nerves and suffused my senses

with an increasing experience of exhilaration.

In 1945 I decided to wind up my printing press in Bombay in order to

go and settle at Sri Ramanasramam. I had no pre-arranged plan for

closing down my business; I merely relied on Sri Bhagavan. And he in

turn responded to my devout prayer.

In the early hours of the morning, while I was still in my bed and

only half awake, I saw a vision in which Sri Bhagavan appeared before

me. By his side stood a gentleman whom I recognised as a friend of

mine. He had neither been to the ashram nor had he ever exhibited any

faith in Sri Bhagavan or me:

Bhagavan: You want to sell your press, don't you?

Me: Yes, Bhagavan, but I must find a buyer.

Bhagavan: (showing my friend standing by his side) Here is the buyer.

He will buy your press, so sell it to him.

Me: Since Sri Bhagavan has been kind enough to show me the buyer, may

he also favour me by stating the amount at which I should execute the

sale?

Sri Bhagavan then showed me five figures on the opposite wall which

were shining like a neon sign. The amount indicated to me was quite

reasonable, neither low or exorbitant.

Sri Bhagavan and my friend then disappeared from my sight and the

vision ended. By itself the vision was astonishing enough, but there

was more to come. When I entered my press that day at 11 a.m., my

friend from the vision was waiting there for me. Of course, he had

come to see me about some other work and had no idea that he had been

singled out as a prospective buyer. Feeling that Sri Bhagavan had sent

him to me, I told him about the vision that had come to me a few hours

before. He listened to me very attentively. When I had finished my

tale he simply commented, "I will buy your press at the price

indicated by your Guru."

There was no limit to my joy. My desire to sell was fulfilled by his

grace and the sale was completed in less than a minute.