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THE MAHARSHI

 

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January/February 1992

Vol. 2 - No. 1 Produced & Edited by

Dennis Hartel

Dr. Anil K. Sharma

 

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AS I SAW HIM - 6

>From Sri Ramana Reminiscences - by G. V. Subbaramayya

 

 

Asked "How does a grihastha (householder) fare in the scheme of Moksha

(liberation)?" the Maharshi said, "The obstacle is the mind. It must be got

over whether at home or in the forest. Renunciation is always in the mind,

not in going to the forest or solitary places, or giving up one's duties.

The main thing is to see that the mind does not turn outward but inward."

 

G. V. Subbaramayya, a professor and poet, approached the Maharshi with

childlike faith and spontaneous devotion - like an innocent child to his

loving father. He laid bare, without reserve, his sorrows, joys, devotion

and defects, and the Maharshi reciprocated, keeping a close and gracious eye

on all his affairs. What follows is but a small, yet telling sample from his

Sri Ramana Reminiscences.

 

MY FIRST PILGRIMAGE to Sri Ramanasramam was on June 8th, 1933. I travelled

alone to Tiruvannamalai. I was at that time in great sorrow, having suffered

my first bereavement the previous December, when my two-year-old son died

suddenly. For over two years I had been reading the works of Sri Bhagavan

and other Ashrama literature. My main interest had been literary rather than

philosophical. I had been struck with wonder at the style of the Telugu

Upadesa Saram which, in its simplicity, felicity and classic finish, could

equal that of the greatest Telugu poet Tikkana. I had felt convinced that a

Tamilian who could compose such Telugu verse must be divinely inspired, and

I had wanted to see him. But my immediate quest at the time was for peace

and solace.

 

In the morning I had darshan of Sri Bhagavan in the old Hall. As our eyes

met, there was a miraculous effect upon my mind. I felt as if I had plunged

into a pool of peace, and with eyes shut, sat in a state of ecstasy for

nearly an hour. When I came to normal consciousness, I found someone

spraying the Hall to keep off insects, and Sri Bhagavan mildly objecting

with a silent shake of his head.

 

As I now heard Sri Bhagavan saying something, I made bold to ask him a

question. "The Bhagavad Gita says that mortals cast off their worn-out

bodies, just as one casts away the worn-out clothes and wears new garments.

How does this apply to the deaths of infants whose bodies are new and

fresh?" I asked. Sri Bhagavan promptly replied: "How do you know that the

body of the dead child is not worn-out? It may not be apparent; but unless

it is worn-out it will not die. That is the law of Nature."

 

Immediately after lunch, I left the Ashrama even without taking leave of Sri

Bhagavan. I came and went incognito, as an utter stranger.

 

After nearly three years, I again visited the Ashrama in the spring of 1936,

this time with a note of introduction. Sri Bhagavan, even before going

through it, gave me a knowing nod and gracious smile and said, "Why the

introduction ? You have come before; you are not new." To add to my wonder I

now felt as though my dead father had come back alive; the resemblance was

so striking. My approach to Sri Ramana has ever since been that of a child

to its parent, quite fearless free and familiar.

 

Some years ago I had been initiated into two mantras and was enjoined to

repeat them a minimum number of times every day. I had been doing it

punctiliously, but now after entering the Ashrama, I had no mind to the

mantras or do any kind of formal worship. After a few days I was seized with

the fear of incurring sin by failing to observe the instructions on my

initiation. So I put it to Sri Bhagavan himself, making a clean breast of my

default. Sri Bhagavan smiled and said, "Just because you have done so much

of japa, its merit has brought you here. Why should you now fear while

enjoying the fruit of the japa?"

 

I had also at this time a more serious trouble. I had been practising breath

control (pranayama) as taught by Swami Ramtirtha in his works. There came a

stage when I felt a terrible sensation as though my head would crack and

break into pieces. Then I stopped doing it, but every day the sensation was

recurring at the time of practice and the fear was growing that disaster was

imminent. So, at dead of night, when Bhagavan was alone, I approached him

with my tale. He said laughing, "What! Again you are seized with fear! These

are the usual experiences of people who do yogic exercises without the

immediate guidance of a Guru, but having come to me, why should you fear?"

Then Sri Bhagavan added in an undertone: "Next time you get that sensation,

you think of me and you will be all right." From that moment to this I have

never felt it again.

 

"Be still and know that I am God"

 

During the Christmas of 1936, I attended Sri Bhagavan's Jayanti celebration

for the first time. Many Western visitors had come. One of them, Mr. Maurice

Frydman, a Polish Jew of subtle intellect, plied Sri Bhagavan with ingenious

pleas for practical guidance for Self-realisaton. Sri Bhagavan followed his

arguments with keen interest but kept silent all the time. When pressed to

say something, Sri Bhagavan only quoted from the Bible, "Be still and know

that I am God," and added "The Lord said 'know' and not, 'think' that I am

God." We understood Sri Bhagavan as meaning that all these arguments were

spun by the intellect, the stilling of which was the only way to

Realisation.

 

Another visitor, Mr. Duncan Greenless, said, "Bhagavan, while we are in your

presence, a certain halo of purity and peace seems to surround us. It

continues for some time after we leave. Then it disappears and the old

stupidities return. Why is it so?" Sri Bhagavan replied, "It is all the work

of the mind. Like the battery it wears out and has to be recharged. But when

mind control is perfect, there will be no further trouble."

 

Availing myself of a short holiday in February 1937, I again went to the

Ashrama to submit my translation of Sri Kavyakantha's Gitamala in person. As

I entered the Hall and was prostrating, to my consternation, my five year

old daughter, Lalita, went very near to Sri Bhagavan and asked him, "What is

your name, Sir?" Sri Bhagavan replied with a counter-query, "What is your

name?My name is Lalita," said she, and repeated her question, "What is

yours, please?" Now Sri Bhagavan pointing to himself with His right hand on

the right side of his chest said, "What! don't you know ME?" She at once

answered, "Oh yes! I simply asked for fun." At this Sri Bhagavan burst into

laughter.

 

Lalita's leave-taking was a most moving scene. As she knelt down, Sri

Bhagavan who was then squatting after his breakfast, tapped her on the back

with his stick saying, "This is to keep you in mind lest you should forget."

Then he lifted her and hugged her to his breast. He told the people then

present, "The speciality of this child is this: she has no sense of newness

or strangeness, all beings and all things she takes as her own."

 

One day, having just read a biography of the late Ammani Ammal, sister of

the late Dr. T. M. Nair, Sri Bhagavan spoke highly of her learning,

philanthropy and devotion. In her last illness, she wired to Sri Bhagavan

praying for a peaceful end. Just when Sri Bhagavan was perusing her letter,

she expired in her home. As Sri Bhagavan was narrating this incident, he was

so moved that he shed tears.

 

My long stay this time made the departure a wrench for me, and my feeling

found vent in some Telugu verses which I composed on the way and posted to

the Ashrama. In the opening verse I wrote, "Leaving Thy feet and going to my

place, alas! I feel like the new daughter-in-law leaving her mother's home

and starting to go and settle in her mother-in-law's place." The Ashrama

reply stated, "Your letter with the 'padyam' full of your feelings was

perused by Sri Bhagavan." The very next time I returned to the Ashrama, Sri

Bhagavan greeted me saying, "Lo! the new daughter-in-law has come back to

her mother's home! You people treat her as becomes her." I have realised

that these gracious words were not mere fun, but truly described Sri

Bhagavan's attitude towards me at all times. It was pure, parental love.

 

Psychology, philosophy and spirituality

 

One morning Sri Bhagavan quoted from a journal the following sentence:

"Where psychology ends, philosophy begins" and added his own remark, "Where

philosophy ends spirituality begins."

 

I was asked to translate into Telugu an article on Sri Bhagavan by his

English devotee, Major A. W. Chadwick. It was suggested that I might try to

put the same ideas in Telugu poetry. In the inspiring presence of Sri

Bhagavan, I composed sixteen verses in two hours, and at the instance of Sri

Bhagavan, I read them out in the Hall. When I came to the fifteenth verse

which stated: "On this occasion (Shasti-Purti) as we gather at the feet of

Sri Bhagavan, we should neither discuss philosophy nor estimate our

individual progress in spirituality, but simply pour our hearts out for his

gracious condescension in living with us and befriending us these sixty

years," my voice choked with emotion, and failed, Sri Bhagavan also shed

tears. With great difficulty I somehow completed the reading.

 

A. Devaraja Mudaliar, a prominent lawyer and intimate devotee, asked how Sri

Bhagavan could observe distinction among his devotees. "For instance," added

Sri Mudaliar, "shall we be wrong if we say that Subbaramayya is shown a

little more favour than others and is made to act as the High Priest of the

Order?" Sri Bhagavan smiling, replied, "To me there is no distinction. Grace

is flowing like the ocean ever full. Everyone draws from it according to his

capacity. How can one who brings only a tumbler complain that he is not able

to take as much as another who has brought a jar?"

 

At this time I was blessed with the rare good fortune of working with Sri

Bhagavan in the kitchen. Hours of duty were between 2:30 a.m. and 4:00 a.m.

Sri Bhagavan would come punctually at 2:30 a.m. and first spend some time in

cutting vegetables with the workers and devotees. Then he would enter the

kitchen and prepare sambar or chutney for breakfast, and occasionally some

extra dishes also.

 

At first I was an ignoramus in the work. As I saw Sri Bhagavan perspiring

profusely near the oven, I tried to fan him, but Sri Bhagavan objected. I

stopped, but as his attention was engrossed in work, I gently repeated the

fanning. Sri Bhagavan turning to me, laughed and said, "You want to do it on

the sly, but you do not even know how to do it effectively. Let me teach

you." So saying, he held me by the hand and taught me the proper way of

waving the fan. Oh! How I thrilled at this touch and thanked my ignorance!

>From the kitchen we would adjourn to another room for grinding the mixture.

I did not know at first how to hold the pestle and grind. Sri Bhagavan

placed his hand upon mine and turned the pestle in the proper way. Again

what a thrill! How blessed was my ignorance!

 

After the work was finished, Sri Bhagavan would take out a bit from the

dish, taste a little of it and give us the remainder to taste, and sometimes

when our hands were unwashed, he would himself throw it into our mouths with

his own hand. That would be the climax of our happiness. Then he would

hasten back to the Hall and lie reclining on the couch and appear dozing as

the brahmins arrived for Parayana. Squatting so close to Sri Bhagavan,

chatting and joking with him and partaking of the fruit of his gracious

labours, what a privilege and good fortune!

 

The work with Sri Bhagavan had its rigours as well as its pleasures. Though

Sri Bhagavan was all mercy and grace, he was at the same time a strict

disciplinarian. He would not tolerate the least sloppiness. Everything must

be done to perfection. Nothing should be wasted or spoiled. He would demand

full attention and implicit obedience to his directions. Each one was

allotted a duty and he must take his cue from the mere look of Sri Bhagavan.

My duty, for instance, was to supply salt and water, and whenever Sri

Bhagavan glanced at me, I must bring either of the two, understanding the

need.

 

We used to wake up at 2 a.m., finish our ablutions and be ready before time

to report for duty. Once, however, I was late by five minutes. The work was

already going on. Sri Bhagavan tasting the preparation said that salt was a

little in excess, and turning to me, he added, "Since you were absent, I

thought of you at the moment of adding salt, and that is the reason for this

excess." That was Sri Bhagavan's way of reprimanding me for unpunctuality.

 

Another time the sour ingredient was slightly excessive. Sri Bhagavan,

tasting it, joked and said, "Acidity is the effective remedy for pittam

(giddiness). Since most of the people who come here are more or less giddy,

this preparation will do us all a lot of good!"

 

My two daughters, nine-year-old Lalita and five-year-old Indira came and

stayed in the Ashrama for a few days. Lalita was Sri Bhagavan's old

favourite and Indira was a fresh entrant into his favour. As usual Sri

Bhagavan asked both the children to sing and dance in the Hall. Indira would

respond readily, but Lalita having grown by now into a little lady, needed

much coaxing to commence her performance. Sri Bhagavan said, "What Lalita, I

never asked anyone for anything. But now you have made me seek your favour.

Look at Indira. She is a good child. Do emulate her example." So both the

girls sang and danced together while Sri Bhagavan sat up and looked on,

beaming with gracious pleasure. This 'entertainment' became a daily feature

of Sri Bhagavan's 'Durbar' during the children's brief stay.

 

One evening Lalita, having had her meal early, left with the ladies for

town. Indira now remaining alone turned to me and complained of hunger. Sri

Bhagavan at once took note of it and severely reprimanded me for delaying to

feed the child. He said, "What is your meditation worth if you neglect to

serve your child?" Such was his abounding grace to children.

 

"Why can't you be like me?"

 

Another night, Sri Bhagavan graciously enquired about my son-in-law's

health, which had been causing anxiety for some months. After hearing my

tale of domestic cares and worries, Sri Bhagavan looked me full in the face

with utmost sympathy and spoke in melting tones: "Why can't you be like me?

You know how I was when I arrived in Tiruvannamalai. There was a time when I

went round the town begging for food. In those days I was observing silence.

So I would pass down the street halting for a moment in front of a house and

gently clap my hands. If there was no response, I would pass on. Whatever

food was thus got by me and other associates, we would mix into one mass and

take a morsel each. That we ate only once a day. Now you see what changes

have come outwardly, what buildings have been raised and how the Ashrama has

grown all-round. But I am ever the same. Only the sun rises and the sun

sets. To me there seems no other change. So through all the vicissitudes of

good and evil, you be like me and whenever you are prone to depression and

melancholy, you remember me." These gracious words of Sri Bhagavan have been

with me ever since and protect me as a talisman against all the ills of

life.

 

The Ashrama was very busy with preparations for the Kumbhabhishekam of the

Mother's shrine which was to be celebrated during the third week of March,

1949. With the conclusion of the Kumbhabhishekam our happiness too seems to

have concluded.

 

Shortly before the function a small growth on Sri Bhagavan's left arm was

removed surgically. Shortly after the celebration a new tumour appeared at

the same place and grew rapidly. To my enquiry how the tumour would go, Sri

Bhagavan simply replied: "As it came, so it will go."

 

On January 14th, 1950, at noon, with special permission I went to take leave

of Sri Bhagavan and broke down completely. Sri Bhagavan called me close to

him and asked me to touch the affected arm. He graciously consoled me

saying: "Don't worry. It will go. As it came, so it will go. The body itself

is a disease, which may be termed Sthoulyam (grossness). The subtle Spirit

is encumbered with this lump of flesh called the body. The body is dead even

while the man is alive, for it is but insentient matter. Only the spirit

gives it an appearance of life and activity. . . . You people talk of the

tumour and name it Sarcoma Cancer. But believe me when I tell you that in my

view there is no tumour, nor Sarcoma Cancer at all."

 

Sri Bhagavan's vital energy was being sapped and his body appeared very weak

and anaemic. However, his face and look did not betray the least trace of

pain and suffering, but on the other hand glowed all the more with grace.

 

The last leave-taking

 

In view of Sri Bhagavan's weak condition, darshan was restricted to the

queues in the morning and evening, and except the personal and medical

attendants, all others were strictly forbidden to see Sri Bhagavan. So that

night I started back with a heavy heart. As I neared the wicket-gate of Sri

Bhagavan's room, Sri Jayadevalal who was guarding it whispered to me: "Do

you want to see Sri Bhagavan?" I replied "Yes, but there is no permission."

He said, "Never mind, get in," and he pushed me in. Sri Bhagavan lay alone

facing the entrance as though he was expecting to see someone. As soon as I

got up from prostrating at the doorstep Sri Bhagavan said, "Come in." As I

went in and stood before him, Sri Bhagavan asked me: "What do you want?"

 

I said with streaming eyes: "I want Abhayam (security from fear)." Sri

Bhagavan replied with overflowing grace: "Saree icchanu (Yes, I have given

it.)" Then he added: "Don't fear. As it came, so it will go."

 

At once I felt as though a heavy load were lifted from my heart and as I

touched His Lotus Feet with my hands and head a thrill of ecstasy passed

through my frame, and I felt like being plunged in an ocean of Peace and

Bliss. That vision of Sri Bhagavan and his gracious words granting me

Abhayam have taken permanent abode in my being and are guarding me from all

life's ills. "Be still and know that I am God"

 

One morning in June, Sri Bhagavan , while going up the Hill, told me

jocularly about the Golden Jubilee of His advent at Arunachalam proposed to

be celebrated on September 1st, 1946. He said, "Venkatachalam Chetty had a

brainwave. The idea of such a celebration first occurred to him, and since

he made the proposal, it seems to have caught every one's fancy." Thrilled

with the joy of this news, I composed the following sonnet that very day.

 

At Arunachala, lo and behold!

Wonders of wonders! This half century

Transcendent Truth-Awareness-Ecstasy

Itself as living Person doth unfold,

Whose presence all in peace and bliss doth hold,

At Whose one word or glance all doubts do flee,

Who radiant with pure Divinity

Looks out for souls to save and rightly mould.

'Tis Ramana Maharshi world-renown'd

God-man, self's Self, embodied Love and Truth.

Ye mortals all, in dense ignorance bound

Come, seek His Grace and see the Light of Truth.

Miss not this rarest chance at any rate,

But taste the Bliss of Self ere 'tis too late.

 

Someone asked, "It is stated in the scriptures that the Self will reveal

itself only to one whom it chooses. Then what is the use of our effort?" Sri

Bhagavan replied: "The Self will draw unto itself an aspirant only when he

becomes introverted. So long as he is extroverted, Self-Realization is

impossible."

 

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