RE: THOU ART THAT...

July 13, 2004

Harshaji wrote...

Questions come up of Sadhana (spiritual practice) andhow to achieve Realization.

These show our quest forSelf and the intuition that something lies behind

thepersonality. Sri Ramana used to say that all deepthinking people are

fascinated by the nature ofconsciousness. By deep thinking, Sri Ramana did

notmean necessarily intellectual people but those who hadbecome aware of the

mystery of life, the riddle ofperception and consciousness.So yes, one should

do Sadhana. Whatever mode ofpractice people brought to Sri Ramana (Japa,

Kirtan,meditation, pranayama, moderation in food), the sagewould encourage them

to continue with that...When Ganapati Muni fell to young Ramana's feet andtold

him that he had done countless mantras and askedhim the meaning of "Tapas",

what did Sri Ramana say?He said something like... if you watch from where

themantra arises (as you are doing it) and abide in that,that is "Tapas".

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A few weeks ago, when I was attending puja, another woman, from Canada, who was

new to the Temple, came over to me and asked me why she did not see me with the

bindi which many other Indian women wore all of the time. I told her I did not

apply it until the end of the ritual as this was how I felt guided to proceed,

and that I applied it by way of ashes and kumkum in the Shiva tradition of

three lines and one red bindi. She then decided to follow me to the altar that

night after I received my prasad and took it to Lord Shiva for one more

offering, me. There she kneeled, following what I did, the blind leading the

blind!!!

Later, as we were sitting with some other Indian women sharing prasad, I asked

them the reason why the bindi was applied. I felt that if she was going to

apply it as she saw me doing, she should know why she was doing it. Although I

had read once or twice on the meaning of it, the specifics escaped me at that

moment and I thought they might be able to offer her a better explanation. What

it meant to me was an act of surrender of myself to the Lord. I was not thinking

of it in terms of ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Neither the women nor the men

could explain the details but said it was deeper than that and had other

meanings. One man made the comment to me that he had heard it said that puja

is not complete until you apply the ashes. Even as he said it, he started as

he realized that he had not done so himself.

I decided to look it up again when I returned home. Before I went online, I

pulled out a book on Hindu symbolism and looked it up. I found an article near

the end...titled "The Greatness of the Sacred Ashes-Vibhuti." As I read it, I

came to an excerpt at the end with a little story about Sri Ramana Maharshi,

which brought a smile to my face. I had gone looking online to find the whole

article, and could not find it, but I did find the story below, sort of a pea

in the pod of the theme. It is one of a number of stories written by

Chhaganlal Yogi. The excerpt from the book reminds me of Harsha's post, in that

we should do what feels natural without regard or reference to what others might

prescribe, so I will type that part of the article below...

>From ashes to ashes,

Joyce

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"The example of Sri Ramana whose daily routine included applying Vibhuti after

his bath every morning, has a special significant for his devotees and sadhaks,

since he did not particularly advocate orthodoxy or its opposite.

Sri Bhagavan also used to take and wear Vibhuti and Kumkum brought to him on a

plate after Aratri at the Mother's shrine on important occasions or in

connection with special rituals in the Ashram. One vividly recalls Sri

Bhagavan's appearance on such ocassions and his characteristic posture showing

attentiveness adding dignity to the solemnity of the scene. He used to tilt his

head backwards and with a steady and even pressure of the fingers rub the

Vibhuti on his forehead till a uniform and fairly thick coating was obtained.

The tilting of the head was to avoid the Vibhuti falling to the ground which

was considered improper.

The hospital room in the Ashram, in which the third operation for the sarcoma on

Sri Bhagavan's arm took place, was not equipped with the articles of Sri

Bhagavan's daily use. The attendants forgot all about the Vibhuti, probably

assuming that he may not need it at such a time. But Sri Bhagavan asked one of

his attendants whether he did not have any Vibhuti with him (Sadhus generally

carry a tiny bag of it in the folds of their dress). The attendant did have

his Vibhuti and Sri Bhagavan applied it as usual. SEIN (Courtesy: The Mountain

Path)"

from Symbolism in Hinduism, compiled by Swami Nityanand.

How The Maharshi Came To MeBy Chhaganlal V. Yogi

WHAT DOES SRI BHAGAVAN mean to me? After many years of experiencing his grace I

can now reply, "He is everything to me. He is my Guru and my God." I can say

this with confidence because, had I not had the good fortune of seeing him and

thereafter getting into closer contact with him, I would have been still

groping in the dark. I would still have been a doubting Thomas.

How did it all begin? When I was eighteen I read a lot of books by Swami

Vivekananda and Swami Rama Tirtha. This reading generated a desire in me that I

should also become a sannyasin, like the authors of these books. Their writings

also implanted in me the ideal of plain living, high thinking, and a life

dedicated to spiritual matters. Somehow, my desire to become a sannyasin was

never fulfilled, but the ideal of a dedicated life made a deeper and deeper

impression on my mind. At the age of twenty I had the good fortune of

contacting Mahatma Gandhi. His ideals won my heart and for several years I

faithfully tried to put them into practice.

I was doing my duty to the best of my ability and leading, as best I could, a

pure and dedicated life until the age of thirty-eight. Around that time

scepticism began to assail me and my mind became a home for all kinds of

doubts. I began to doubt the ideals of Gandhiji; I began to doubt sadhus and

sannyasins; I doubted religion, and I even began to doubt the existence of God.

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...

Attachment: (image/jpeg) rest143p.jpg [not stored]

July 13, 2004

RE: THOU ART THAT...

Harshaji wrote...

Questions come up of Sadhana (spiritual practice) andhow to achieve

Realization. These show our quest forSelf and the intuition that

something lies behind thepersonality. Sri Ramana used to say that all

deepthinking people are fascinated by the nature ofconsciousness. By

deep thinking, Sri Ramana did notmean necessarily intellectual people

but those who hadbecome aware of the mystery of life, the riddle

ofperception and consciousness.So yes, one should do Sadhana.

Whatever mode ofpractice people brought to Sri Ramana (Japa,

Kirtan,meditation, pranayama, moderation in food), the sagewould

encourage them to continue with that...When Ganapati Muni fell to

young Ramana's feet andtold him that he had done countless mantras

and askedhim the meaning of "Tapas", what did Sri Ramana say?He said

something like... if you watch from where themantra arises (as you

are doing it) and abide in that,that is "Tapas".

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A few weeks ago, when I was attending puja, another woman, from

Canada, who was new to the Temple, came over to me and asked me why

she did not see me with the bindi which many other Indian women wore

all of the time. I told her I did not apply it until the end of the

ritual as this was how I felt guided to proceed, and that I applied

it by way of ashes and kumkum in the Shiva tradition of three lines

and one red bindi. She then decided to follow me to the altar that

night after I received my prasad and took it to Lord Shiva for one

more offering, me. There she kneeled, following what I did, the

blind leading the blind!!!

Later, as we were sitting with some other Indian women sharing prasad,

I asked them the reason why the bindi was applied. I felt that if she

was going to apply it as she saw me doing, she should know why she was

doing it. Although I had read once or twice on the meaning of it, the

specifics escaped me at that moment and I thought they might be able

to offer her a better explanation. What it meant to me was an act of

surrender of myself to the Lord. I was not thinking of it in terms of

ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Neither the women nor the men could

explain the details but said it was deeper than that and had other

meanings. One man made the comment to me that he had heard it said

that puja is not complete until you apply the ashes. Even as he said

it, he started as he realized that he had not done so himself.

I decided to look it up again when I returned home. Before I went

online, I pulled out a book on Hindu symbolism and looked it up. I

found an article near the end...titled "The Greatness of the Sacred

Ashes-Vibhuti." As I read it, I came to an excerpt at the end with a

little story about Sri Ramana Maharshi, which brought a smile to my

face. I had gone looking online to find the whole article, and could

not find it, but I did find the story below, sort of a pea in the pod

of the theme. It is one of a number of stories written by Chhaganlal

Yogi. The excerpt from the book reminds me of Harsha's post, in that

we should do what feels natural without regard or reference to what

others might prescribe, so I will type that part of the article

below...

>From ashes to ashes,

Joyce

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"The example of Sri Ramana whose daily routine included applying

Vibhuti after his bath every morning, has a special significant for

his devotees and sadhaks, since he did not particularly advocate

orthodoxy or its opposite.

Sri Bhagavan also used to take and wear Vibhuti and Kumkum brought to

him on a plate after Aratri at the Mother's shrine on important

occasions or in connection with special rituals in the Ashram. One

vividly recalls Sri Bhagavan's appearance on such ocassions and his

characteristic posture showing attentiveness adding dignity to the

solemnity of the scene. He used to tilt his head backwards and with a

steady and even pressure of the fingers rub the Vibhuti on his

forehead till a uniform and fairly thick coating was obtained. The

tilting of the head was to avoid the Vibhuti falling to the ground

which was considered improper.

The hospital room in the Ashram, in which the third operation for the

sarcoma on Sri Bhagavan's arm took place, was not equipped with the

articles of Sri Bhagavan's daily use. The attendants forgot all about

the Vibhuti, probably assuming that he may not need it at such a time.

But Sri Bhagavan asked one of his attendants whether he did not have

any Vibhuti with him (Sadhus generally carry a tiny bag of it in the

folds of their dress). The attendant did have his Vibhuti and Sri

Bhagavan applied it as usual. SEIN (Courtesy: The Mountain Path)"

from Symbolism in Hinduism, compiled by Swami Nityanand.

How The Maharshi Came To MeBy Chhaganlal V. Yogi

WHAT DOES SRI BHAGAVAN mean to me? After many years of experiencing

his grace I can now reply, "He is everything to me. He is my Guru and

my God." I can say this with confidence because, had I not had the

good fortune of seeing him and thereafter getting into closer contact

with him, I would have been still groping in the dark. I would still

have been a doubting Thomas.

How did it all begin? When I was eighteen I read a lot of books by

Swami Vivekananda and Swami Rama Tirtha. This reading generated a

desire in me that I should also become a sannyasin, like the authors

of these books. Their writings also implanted in me the ideal of

plain living, high thinking, and a life dedicated to spiritual

matters. Somehow, my desire to become a sannyasin was never

fulfilled, but the ideal of a dedicated life made a deeper and deeper

impression on my mind. At the age of twenty I had the good fortune of

contacting Mahatma Gandhi. His ideals won my heart and for several

years I faithfully tried to put them into practice.

I was doing my duty to the best of my ability and leading, as best I

could, a pure and dedicated life until the age of thirty-eight.

Around that time scepticism began to assail me and my mind became a

home for all kinds of doubts. I began to doubt the ideals of

Gandhiji; I began to doubt sadhus and sannyasins; I doubted religion,

and I even began to doubt the existence of God.

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...

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July 14, 2004

Thank you for sharing those beautiful stories Joyce. I

have some favorites writings of devotees of Sri Ramana

on the HS website. Sri Ramana often struck many

visitors as an ordinary person just sitting there

doing nothing. For others, one glance from the Sage,

and there was no life anymore without him.

It is a matter of connection, the mystery of grace,

who can really explain it.

I have written about this before. One time, I was

sitting in the Jain Meditation center in 1978-79 or so

and meditating. There was always some kirtan or songs

before meditation.

I was sitting with my eyes closed in meditation when

the singers started, "Arunachala Shiva, Aruanchala

Shiva!" All of a sudden all my body hair stood and I

was completely overwhelmed. I sat there stunned not

knowing why such incredible feelings came over me out

of the blue.

I had actually never heard Arunachala refrain sung

before and the funny thing was that these were

American singers who were pronouncing it incorrectly.

Nevertheless it has a profound impact on me and when I

now sing Arunachala Shiva, I sing it in that incorrect

way! :-)

Love to all

Harsha

--- Lady Joyce <shaantih wrote:

> RE: THOU ART THAT...

=====

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July 15, 2004

A good posting indeed

May His Grace be ever on you

With Love,

ChandruHarsha <harshaimtm > wrote:

Thank you for sharing those beautiful stories Joyce. Ihave some favorites

writings of devotees of Sri Ramanaon the HS website. Sri Ramana often struck

manyvisitors as an ordinary person just sitting theredoing nothing. For others,

one glance from the Sage,and there was no life anymore without him.It is a

matter of connection, the mystery of grace,who can really explain it.I have

written about this before. One time, I wassitting in the Jain Meditation center

in 1978-79 or soand meditating. There was always some kirtan or songsbefore

meditation. I was sitting with my eyes closed in meditation whenthe singers

started, "Arunachala Shiva, AruanchalaShiva!" All of a sudden all my body hair

stood and Iwas completely overwhelmed. I sat there stunned notknowing why such

incredible feelings came over me outof

the blue. I had actually never heard Arunachala refrain sungbefore and the funny

thing was that these wereAmerican singers who were pronouncing it

incorrectly.Nevertheless it has a profound impact on me and when Inow sing

Arunachala Shiva, I sing it in that incorrectway! :-)Love to allHarsha--- Lady

Joyce <shaantih (AT) comcast (DOT) net> wrote:> RE: THOU ART

THAT...=====/join

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July 15, 2004

Dear Chitty, Rajan and others

A good posting forwarded herewith. please read below

Chitty snatched the Arunachala Siva cassette from my car sterio quietly

He liked it so much

With LoveHarsha <harshaimtm > wrote: