Ramana Maharshi Devotee Mouni Sadhu(M. Sudouski) shares his experiences

[Guest guest]

In Days of Great Peace, a book recounting Mouni Sadhu's (M. Sudouski) visit

to the Ashram of Sri Ramana Maharshi in 1949, was first published in 1953.

It has been out of print for many years and is now in the process of being

republished by Sri Ramanasramam. We hope to have it available in our book

store in a few months.

 

In Days of Great Peace inspired many Westerners to seek spiritual guidance

from Sri Ramana Maharshi in the years following his Mahasamadhi.

 

Through a narrative that is both simple and profound, the author takes us on

his journey to the quiet hermitage of the renowned Sage of Arunachala in

South India. Basking in the radiance of the 'Great Rishi' his mind turns

inward, following the path of Self-inquiry of 'Who Am I?'. He describes,

with perceptive insight and emotion, how in the gracious presence of the

Master, thoughts are stilled and one rests calmly in the thought-free,

egoless state.

 

Below are a few excerpts from various chapters of the book.

 

When I arrived at the abode of Maharshi, called 'Ramanashram,' and jumped

out from the two-wheeled cart just in front of the temple, in spite of the

late hour, but in accordance with the custom of the place, I was taken

straight into the presence of the Sage.

 

A modest Indian supper was served a little rice, vegetables and fruit on a

banana leaf. By the time I had finished, Maharshi had gone. As soon as I

found myself in the small one-room cottage prepared for me in the Ashram's

compound, I immediately fell asleep, being very tired after my whole day's

journey.

 

Life in Maharshi's Ashram

 

At 7 A.M. there was the loud sound of a gong calling us to breakfast. When I

reached the dining hall, Maharshi was just mounting the few steps leading to

it. He was accompanied by several Indians, his permanent attendants. Here,

in full daylight, I noticed for the first time that the physical state of

Maharshi was really precarious. 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 about six

months earlier and, in spite of two operations, had continued to spread its

devastating work, causing Maharshi's death one year later.Sometimes his head

shook slightly and this increased the impression of serious ill health; the

whole frame, once tall and powerful, was now bent and weak.

 

The Sage ate with his hand according to the general Indian custom. His

movements seemed to be automatic. I saw that he was quite aware of his

surroundings and reacted in a normal way to all the phenomena of the outward

world, but I felt certain that his real Self had nothing to do with the

functions and actions of his visible vehicle.

 

There are three communal meals in the Ashram: lunch or dinner at about 11:30

A.M., supper at 7.30 P.M. and also tea at 3.30 P.M. for the Ashram guests

and occasional visitors. One is given tea, coffee, or by special request,

milk, as was the case with me. The dishes are well prepared, but some

vegetables and pastry have many condiments added and are too hot for the

European palate. [Less spicy preparations are now available for Westerners]

 

Maharshi took a little of everything. At the end of the meal, when

buttermilk was distributed, he made a kind of round wall of rice, leaving a

space in the middle for the liquid. When he had enough he stopped, with a

gesture to the Brahmin who was serving. He never left a single grain of rice

on his leaf.

 

Farewell

 

And I begin to tell Him slowly and clearly that I have to leave the Ashram

and beg His permission, and after He nods in consent, I proceed to ask His

blessing for my present, my future, and forever. His eyes seem even more

luminous; the face, expressing a superhuman kindness, seems to become more

serious. He gives me the blessing. I know He sees my next, still unexpressed

entreaty. I do not hear any words, yet I feel He is asking me whether I am

aware of the meaning of my own prayer. And without moving my lips, I give

Him my answer. Yet all is so natural, so simple, so real, that I would

rather doubt my standing here than this mute conversation. A short silence

follows.

 

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.

 

In a lightning flash, I realize 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.

 

Source: http://www.arunachala.org/newsletters/2001/?pg=mar-apr

 

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