THE MOUNTAIN PATH January 1964

[Guest guest]

A Beacon Still

 

By S. P. Mukherji

 

 

 

We have not seen you, Bhagavan;

We have not approached your lotus-feet,

Yet do we find

The now and the then are the same for us,

The body-presence, the presence in the heart,

These are the same.

One thing only do we know

That Ramanashram is a beacon still.

 

 

 

The author explains that 'we' is used instead of 'I' in order to include his wife, who settled down near Sri Ramanasramam with him after the death of the Maharshi. (Editor)

 

 

 

 

 

The Golden Master

 

 

 

(Composed by the eminent poet Harindranath Chattopadhyaya in the Ashram Hall, crowded with devotees on the night when death had claimed the body of Sri Ramana.)

 

 

 

 

 

Grief bath grown silent with its own excess

And will not weep lest it betray his trust

Even in this dark hour of dire distress

He lights the flame of knowledge through our dust.

 

Illumining its blindness wide and far

He glitters from his heaven of deathless grace.

In every speck and stone, in every star

We see the lonely wonder of his Face.

 

Ignorance rumours that our King departs

Where can he go, O where? - the being moans,

He who has made rich kingdoms of our hearts

And of our thoughts his countless jewelled thrones?

 

May he forgive our wavering faith, forgive

The folly of our doubts whose eyes are dim

How dare we move or breathe except through him?

How could we live if he should cease to live?

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Few

 

By Arthur Osborne

 

No argument can pierce the shuttered mind.

Let truth shine forth resplendent as the sun,

Still, crouched in their dark corner, will they find

Some guttering candle till life's day be done.

Even though we sang like angels in their ear

They would not hear.

 

Those only in whose heart some inkling dwells,

Grown over though it be, crushed down, denied,

Will greet the pealing of the golden bells

And welcome truth when all around deride.

Yet sight has laid a debt upon their will

Not all fulfil.

 

For even of those who see, only a few

Will have the intrepid wisdom to arise

And barter time's false values for the true,

Making their life a valiant enterprise

To vindicate their heritage long lost,

Nor count the cost.

 

And out of that so noble fellowship

Questing the Graal upon the mountain peaks,

Well is it if it meet the expectant lip

Of even one persistently who seeks.

Yet is this quest the glory and the goal

Of the awakened soul.