Man Called Ramana

[Guest guest]

Alton

Million Paths

In this issue of the Yoga International

http://www.yimag.org/features.asp?articleid=2

The Man Called Ramana By Arthur Osborne

(selected excepts, see link for entire article.)

It was the most majestic film I have ever seen, the most

awe-inspiring and yet without incident. There is a view of

Arunachala hill from the ashram drive, and then a tall, frail,

light-complexioned man with short, white hair descends the slope of

the hill with the aid of a staff. Then he comes out of the ashram

hall, stops to smile at a baby, walks across the grounds-just

simple, everyday actions, and yet the beauty of them was

breathtaking. The simplicity was so natural, the smile so

spontaneous, the majesty so inherent. ...

Bhagavan Sri Ramana was meticulously exact, closely observant,

practical, and humorous. His daily life was conducted with

punctiliousness that Indians today would have to call purely Western.

Everything had to be precise and orderly. The ashram hall was swept

out several times daily. The books were always in their places, and

the cloths covering the couch were scrupulously clean and beautifully

folded. The loincloth, which was all he wore, was gleaming white. The

two clocks in the hall were adjusted daily to radio time, and the

calendar was never allowed to fall behind the current date. The

routine of life flowed in a regular pattern.

Bhagavan was affable and courteous to all visitors. He expressed no

pontifical solemnity in his exposition. On the contrary, his speech,

whether on daily affairs or on doctrine, was vivacious and full of

laughter. So infectious was his laughter that even those who did not

know Tamil would spontaneously join in.

Right up to the end he joked, and yet his jokes also bore instruction.

When the doctors were alarmed to see a new tumor pushing up during his

final sickness, he said, laughing, "Why do you worry? Its nature is to

come up." When a woman beat her head against a post outside his room

in grief, despite his insistence that the body's death was no cause

for grief, he listened for a moment and then said, "Oh, I thought

somebody was trying to break a coconut." A devotee asked why his

prayers were not answered, and Bhagavan replied, laughing, "If they

were, you might stop praying."

His face was like the face of water, always changing and yet always

the same. He would be laughing and talking, then he would turn

graciously to a small child or hand a nut to a squirrel that hopped

onto his couch from the window, or his radiant, wide-open eyes would

shine with love upon some devotee who had just arrived or was taking

leave. Then, in silence a moment later, his face would be rock-like,

eternal in its grandeur.

....

The consideration that Bhagavan showed to people and animals extended

even to inanimate objects. Every action had to be performed

intentionally and nothing was wasted. I have seen the meticulous

care with which a book was bound and cuttings pasted, and have heard

an attendant reproved for wanting to cut into a new sheet of paper

when one already started would suffice. Our exploitation of nature

is ruthless today; it is more a rape than a harvesting. Therefore it

was a chastening sight to see the divine embodiment so careful in the

use of things. He especially never wasted food. He might distribute

a gift of fruit to children who were present or to monkeys who tried

to steal it, but he never wasted anything. We mistakenly think that

economy goes with frugality and generosity with extravagance, yet

very often the frugal are wasteful and the generous are careful.

When Bhagavan had finished a meal, the banana leaf on which he had

eaten was as clean as though it had been washed. Not a grain of rice

was wasted. In former years, when his body was more robust, he used to

help in the kitchen, preparing meals, and he insisted that even the

parings of the vegetables should be used as cattle feed and not

thrown away.

Although all wished to obey him, Bhagavan's life was, notwithstanding,

a lesson in submission. Owing to his refusal to express any wish or

desire, the ashram authorities built up their own structure of

regulations, and Bhagavan obeyed them without hesitation. If

devotees found them irksome, they had before their eyes the example

of Bhagavan's own submission. If Bhagavan ever resisted it was

likely to be in the interests of the devotees. Even so, he acted

usually in silence and often in a manner dictated by his shrewd sense

of humor. An attendant once rebuked a European woman for sitting with

her legs stretched out. Bhagavan at once sat up cross-legged and

continued so, despite the pain caused by the rheumatism in his

knees. When the devotees protested, he replied that the attendant's

orders were for everyone. Only when the lesson had been driven home

did he consent to relax.

>From For Those with Little Dust, by Arthur Osborne. Copyright 2001 by

Sri Ramanasramam. Reprinted by arrangement with Inner Directions

Publishing, PO Box 130070, Carlsbad, California 92013.

www.InnerDirections.org.