THE MAHARSHI 3-4/1999

December 28, 2004

THE MAHARSHI

March/April 1999Vol. 9 - No. 2

Produced & Edited byDennis HartelDr. Anil K. Sharma

Eternal BhagavanBy Shantammal - Part IV

In the kitchen, there were no proper jars for foodstuffs and everything was kept in tins and pots which would leak and spill and make the floor in the kitchen mucky and slippery. Once I scrubbed the kitchen floor very carefully and Bhagavan congratulated me on the neatness in the kitchen. I sighed: "What is the use, Swami. People will come and spill the oil and scatter the flour and it will return to how it was before. We must have proper jars and containers." Ten days later they called me to the Hall. Attendants were opening wooden boxes and there were six beautiful jars. "You wanted jars, now you have jars. Take them to the kitchen," said Bhagavan. On inquiry it was found that some station master had booked them to the Ashram for no ostensible reason.

Such mysterious coincidences happened almost daily, both at the Ashram and in the homes of the devotees. Unless one is himself a witness, one cannot easily believe it, and I found it difficult to convince others that it all happened in front of me, so to say. Such things happen even now. The other day I was taking a lady visitor to the Ashram. I did not feel well and wanted to go home and have some change from eating the Ashram rice, but I stayed for the lady's sake, though I did not eat. That day Subbalakshmi did not stay for food, went home, made some wheat cakes, packed them in a leaf, brought them to the Ashram and gave them to me to eat. She told me that she did not know why and for whom she was baking the cakes until I ate them up. To me it was clearly Bhagavan's care, but can I convince others?

Once I had no money and badly needed some. I prayed silently to Bhagavan: "Ramana, how can I get hold of a little money?" On the third day a money order came for me from one Dr. Srinivasa Rao, whom I did not know. It seems he had been reading Bhagavan's life and on reading the name of "Shantamma" decided that it would be nice to send her some money.

Once we had to fry a big quantity of snake gourd. This vegetable is full of water and the usual way is to squeeze the water out of it to shorten the frying time, but Bhagavan said it should be fried with the water in it. So we sat near the fire, stirring the vegetable in the big iron pan with our long spoons. Suddenly he let go of his spoon and stared, motionless. When I looked at him, my mind stood still. Everything disappeared from before my eyes. After some time he moved and I also moved.

"The curry is noiseless; it is time to add the spices," he said. It could refer to cooking vegetables; it could also refer to his poem, "Aksharamanamalai," in which he addresses Arunachala: "You drugged me with your charm and I woke up full of knowledge." When the curry of the mind is silent, then is the time to add the spice of wisdom.

One day there was talk in the Hall about one of Bhagavan's old devotees who had come under Sri Sai Baba's influence. Bhagavan said: "Once a man has surrendered his life here, he belongs here. Wherever he may go, he shall return. For him this is the door to liberation."

Once a devotee arranged for a big feast for all the inmates and guests of the Ashram. Bhagavan had a bad cold, and whenever he had a cold he would not take milk or curds or coffee. The people in the kitchen prepared some sweet pancakes served with almond milk. We were all sad that Bhagavan would not touch them. Chinnaswami was, naturally, anxious that the feast should go without a hitch and assured us that Bhagavan would relent. Raja Iyer started serving pancakes to Bhagavan, who asked him: "Are they sweet?"

"No," said Raja Iyer.

"Then put some pepper water." I had the almond milk in hand so I poured it over the cake. Bhagavan flared up: "What I ask for is rassam and you serve me milk? Go and get some rassam." We had to serve him rassam with one more pancake. He mixed it all up-sweet pancakes, almond milk and pepper water and ate this wonderful mixture! After having finished all, he continued complaining: "I ask for one thing and get another. I ask for plain cakes and get sweet ones; I ask for pepper water and get almond milk. You expect the swami to eat as he is told. You seem to know what is best for your swami."

The next day Bhagavan refused to drink coffee. I gave up coffee too, as a penance, and a hard penance it was! A month passed like this. One day I burst out in tears before Bhagavan: "Swami, I did offend you, but there must be an end to punishment. Please have your coffee.''

"No, do not think I gave up coffee to punish you. Why should I punish anybody? I gave up coffee because it does not agree with me. Ask the doctor, he will tell you. He advised me to avoid coffee." Then, turning to the audience, Bhagavan added: "It was the same on the hill. I did not take coffee, nobody would touch it and all would curse the swami for depriving them of coffee."

A few days later Janakiamma brought a huge pot of coffee and put it before Bhagavan. "What am I to do now? Coffee has come by itself; nobody asked Janaki to bring it. Now, if I do not drink it, nobody will touch it and Janaki will be sorry." He did taste some of Janaki's coffee and started taking it again soon after that.

You may ask what this storm in a pot of coffee has to do with liberation and realization. Those who have not lived through it cannot appreciate the deep spiritual effect of these anxieties and conflicts. Our 'I' would hurl itself against the rock of truth and the rock would not yield. The 'I' had to yield and in that yielding was the highest blessing. His anger would sometimes seem to shatter us to pieces, and blessed are they indeed who have seen in his wrath his utmost grace.

After serving for years in the kitchen, I became old, my heart got weak, and I could work no longer. I stopped going to the kitchen and I was wondering what to do next. I did not want to eat without working, nor had I any means to live on my own in Tiruvannamalai. So I wanted to go away to a near relative of mine, a doctor who had been inviting me to come and live with him. One night I dreamt that I was taking Bhagavan's leave and fell at his feet. He told me: "Why do you think of going? Who is there in this world to take care of you?" I disregarded the dream and left the Ashram. I reached the doctor's house on a Saturday afternoon. The doctor, who looked quite healthy, died suddenly on Sunday noon. I went to my own place at Ramnad. There too everything went wrong and I felt so miserable that my relatives bought me a ticket and put me on the train for Tiruvannamalai. I have no place in the world except at his feet, nor do I want any other.

To those who would taunt me by saying, "You were for so long with Bhagavan and still are subject to pain and sorrow," my answer would be: "Each time I was in trouble I experienced his grace. My greatest sorrows led me to the highest bliss. Bhagavan makes me and unmakes me; who am I, a simple old woman, to choose when all comes from him only?"

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