Paul Brunton - The Maharshi and His Message #12

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Fireflies whirl about the hermitage garden, drawing strange

patterns of light on the background of darkness, as we drive in

the palm-fringed courtyard. And when I enter the long hall and

drop to a seat on the floor, the sublime silence appears to have

reached this place and pervaded the air.

 

 

 

The assembled company squats in rows around the hall, but

among them there is no noise and no talk. Upon the corner

couch sits the Maharshi, his feet folded beneath him, his hands

resting unconcernedly upon his knees. His figure strikes me anew

as being simple, modest; yet withal it is dignified and impressive.

 

His head is nobly poised, like the head of some Homeric sage.

His eyes gaze immovably towards the far end of the hall. That

strange steadiness of sight is as puzzling as ever. Has he been

merely watching through the window the last ray of light fade

out of the sky, or is he so wrapt in some dreamlike abstraction as

to see naught of this material world at all?

 

The usual cloud of incense floats among the rafters of the

roof. I settle down and try to fix my eyes on the Maharshi, but

after a while feel a delicate urge to close them. It is not long

before I fall into a half sleep lulled by the intangible peace which,

in the Sage’s proximity, begins to penetrate me more deeply.

 

Ultimately there comes a gap in my consciousness and then I

experience a vivid dream.

It seems that I become a little boy of five. I stand on a rough

path which winds up and around the sacred hill of Arunachala,

and hold the Maharshi’s hand; but now he is a great towering

figure at my side, for he seems to have grown to giant’s size.

He leads me away from the hermitage and, despite the

impenetrable darkness of the night guides me along the path

which we both slowly walk together. After a while the stars

and the moon conspire to bestow a faint light upon our

surroundings. I notice that the Maharshi carefully guides me

around fissures in the rocky soil and between monstrous

boulders that are shakily perched. The hill is steep and our

ascent is slow. Hidden in narrow clefts between the rocks and

boulders or sheltered by clusters of low bushes, tiny hermitages

and inhabited caves come into view. As we pass by, the

inhabitants emerge to greet us and, although their forms take

on a ghostly appearance in the starlight, I recognise that they

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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are yogis of varying kinds. We never stop for them, but continue

to walk until the top of the peak is reached. We halt at last, my

heart throbbing with a strange anticipation of some momentous

event about to befall me.

The Maharshi turns and looks down into my face; I, in turn,

gaze expectantly up at him. I become aware of a mysterious

change taking place with great rapidity in my heart and mind.

The old motives which have lured me on begin to desert me.

The urgent desires which have sent my feet hither and thither

vanish with incredible swiftness. The dislikes, misunderstandings,

coldnesses and selfishness which have marked my dealings with

many of my fellows collapse into the abyss of nothingness. An

untellable peace falls upon me and I know that there is nothing

further that I shall ask from life.

Suddenly the Maharshi bids me turn my gaze away to the bottom

of the hill. I obediently do so and to my astonishment discover that

the Western hemisphere of our globe lies stretched out far below.It

is crowded with millions of people; I can vaguely discern them as

masses of forms, but the night’s darkness still enshrouds them.

The Sage’s voice comes to my ears, his words slowly uttered:

“When you go back there, you shall have this peace which

you now feel, but its price will be that you shall henceforth cast

aside the idea that you are this body or this brain. When this

peace will flow into you, then you shall have to forget your own

self, for you will have turned your life over to THAT!”

And the Maharshi places one end of a thread of silver light in

my hand.

I awaken from that extraordinarily vivid dream with the sense

of its penetrating sublimity yet upon me. Immediately the

Maharshi’s eyes meet mine. His face is now turned in my

direction, and he is looking fixedly into my eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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What lies behind that dream? For the desires and bitternesses

of personal life fade for a while into oblivion. That condition of

lofty indifference to self and profound pity for my fellows which

I have dreamt into being, does not take its departure even though

I am now awake. It is a strange experience.

But if the dream has any verity in it, then the thing will not

last; it is not yet for me.

How long have I been sunk in dream? For everyone in the

hall now begins to rise and to prepare for sleep. I must perforce

follow the example.