Mouni Sadhu's meeting with Ramana

June 17, 2004

extracted from 'In Days of Great Peace', published by Allen & Unwin 1957 ... In 1949 Mouni Sadhu met Ramana Maharshi ...

When I arrived at the abode of Maharshi called 'Ramanasramam', and jumped out from the two-wheeled cart just in front of the temple, in spite of the late hour but in accordance wth the custom of the place, I was taken straight into the presence of the Sage. He walked with difficulty, as his joints and knees were affected by acute rheumatism. His left arm and elbow were bandaged because of a malignant tumour, which had begun its growth six months earlier.

It took some time before I could adjust myself to the rhythm of the Ashram life and could inwardly approach Maharshi. At first I had to struggle with mental distrust, with the tendency to look for blemishes in the lives of those who surrounded the Sage. I was simply wasting precious time in a vain fight with my mental windmills. I was looking on the Maharshi from the narrow citadel of the ego, of my own small personality. I was aware that I should not do so, that I should step out of my self into a broader path.

There was an emptiness in me when I tried to exclude the thinking process from my consciousness. This emptiness was not pleasant and it even brought up some fear. The feeling was similar to that of a mountaineer, who on entering higher regions feels that there is not enough air to breathe and that he is suffocating.

I began to listen intently to the silence surrounding the Master. I understood what a high degree of concentration, of the control of the movement of thoughts, is necessary to open the door of the mind to the subtle vibrations constantly radiated by Maharshi and leading one to high initiation. I also came to understand that my previous exercises were not of the best; that here they would prove insufficient. With some effort of will I impose calm on my mind. It does not create thoughts any more. Those which appear immediately vanish like small clouds in the Indian sky. I am gazing intently at the Saint, looking into his great widely-opened eyes. And suddenly I begin to understand. How can I express in our earthly language what exactly I do understand? How shall I tell in words, based on the common ideas and experiences of ordinary peoplee who are creating and moulding our language, these higher and more subtle things? May I say that I understand that Maharshi's life is not concentrated on this our earthly plane; that it extends far beyond our world; that he contemplates a different and real world, a world not subject storms and changes; that he is a torch of light before the throne of the Most High, shedding its rays all around; that he is like the incense smoke constantly rising towards the blue sky which we see through the temple roof; that his eyes, just now looking at me, seem to convey - no, I am unable to say anything mmore, I cannot even think. I only feel a stream of tears on my face. They are abundant and serene. They flow silently. It is not suffering, regret, or repentance that is their source. I do not know how to name their cause. And through these tears I look at the Master. He knows full well their origin. His serious, almost solemn face, expresses endless understanding and friendship, and glows with inner light which makes it so different from all the other human faces. In the light of his profound gaze I suddenly understand the reason and purpose of my tears. Yes, I 'see' at last. The sudden illumination is too strong to allow immediate belief in the truth of the 'seen'. Is 'this' really possible? Can it be possible? But Maharshi's eyes seem to bring a confirmation of 'it'. I can only say that there are moments of inner experience so important, so fraught with consequences, that they may influence not only one but many incarnations. There are stains which have to be washed out before more light can be seen. No water from an earthyl vessel which can serve this purpose is the heart, the only 'water' a stream of tears. 'Peace that passeth all understanding'.

Now my eyes are open and I see the silvery water of the Ashram's pool, while above, white clouds drift across the sky, with the moon rising between them. My outer ears hear the muffled cries of far-off owls, but all this is outside my consciousness. I am aware that my physical self is in contact with the outer world, but within, the true 'I' reigns in stillness. I know that it is the foundation which will not be lost when the world of the senses crumbles. This stillness has no desires. It is independent of all. When it fades the foreground of my consciousness, all that I once thought of as 'myself', vanishes. One cannot see 'IT', for the simple reason that in that state nothing but IT exists.

The presence of the Master is now felt even when I cannot see him - when I am away from the Hall. How can this be? The process of seeking, while the mind is still, conveys to me the truth, which I see as in a flash of light. The Master is not the body which I see every day on the couch in the temple. He is this stillness - the silence itself, in which I realise myself. This knowledge immediately brings me peace, for it is not knowledge of the mind, it is truth itself.

The eyes of the Maharshi always seem to be the same, for I cannot see in them any modification of expression due to emotion or thought. But that does not mean they are devoid of the shining glow of life! On the contrary, light and life are constantly flowing through them with a majesty and intensity unimaginable to those who have not seen them. The large dark pupils are always full of resplendent light.

These immensities, these infinities of space, no longer evoke in me feelings of nothingness as they did when I believed in the reality of their existence. It was an illusion which is created when we look at everything from the point of view of our own impermanent physical form. But when the belief in the reality of our body vanishes, the whole film of the Cosmos appears to be nothing more than it really is: a play of light and shadow.

Twilight reigns in the temple hall. I stop for a moment at the door. Maharshi is sitting in his habitual posture, reclining on pillows and looking into space. One of the young attendants is sitting in a corner, almost invisible in its darkness. No one else is in the Hall. Maharshi now sees me and a slight smile appears. I approach him, but all the well prepared words of farewell and last requests disappear from my mind. It remains empty. There is not even a single thought. I salute and stop quite near to him. He looks into my eyes. I plunge into the light of his. No words are now needed. I know that the saint reads my heart. He has seen each word in my mind even before I put them together. Deep down some sadness flutters in me. I see for the last time the one who is my Master and my friend. Yet a subtle but irresistible wave of strength flows from him. It carries away this cloud and penetrates through the whole of my being.

But here, now, when I am standing before him with an open heart, feeling all that is taking place with joy and certainty, how could I be refused? As soon as I begin my sentence somewhat shyly, his wonderful smile cones to encourage me. I bow my head and feel the touch of his hand on my brow, the delicate touch of his fingers along my head. A subtle current of power and purity passes through my whole frame. Like in a lightning flash I realise that the power of this moment will sustain me in all the years to come, and its light will for ever shine on my life. We do not talk any more. I salute for the last time, he nods in the Hindu way which denotes consent or approbation, and I withdraw slowly towards the door looking at his face with all intensity, to engrave it for ever in the depths of my heart. I walk in a joyous peace back to my cell, through the dark paths of the garden. A few ashram friends accompany me to my gate in perfect silence, for Indians know how to behave in solemn moments. The inner voice says: separation from the master is no more possible. And so it has proved. ... Ramana Maharshi died a 6 months later ...

http://www.geocities.com/brianperkins77/180ramana.htm