In days of great Peace Part II

August 4, 2008

The Maharshi

MAR/APR 2001 VOL.11, NO. 2

IN DAYS OF GREAT PEACE

by Mouni Sadhu

Part Two

Life in Maharshi’s Ashram

The next day was occupied in getting acquainted with the routine of the Ashram: the hours of meditation in the presence of the Sage, the time of meals in the dining-hall, and so on.

The simple way of life in the Ashram helps one to concentrate and dive deep into oneself. The very atmosphere, charged with the thoughts of so many people seeking their real Self, according to the teachings of the Master, turns the mind inwards and is favorable to introspection. The invisible yet powerful influence of the sacred hill of Arunachala also

has its part in creating this peculiar atmosphere, but of that I will speak later.

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.

After reaching the hall, Maharshi took his place near the wall, opposite the entrance. He sat alone while, facing him, plantain leaves were spread on

the floor for the rest of the residents. I occupied a place on his right, about three yards away, and that spot remained mine during the whole period of my stay.

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.

During the first weeks of my stay in the Ashram, Maharshi spent the whole day, with the exception of the hours of sleep and food, under a small bamboo roof near the library building, facing the dining hall.

He reclined on a big stone couch covered with mats, cotton rugs and a few pillows.

His disciples and visitors sat on the concrete floor facing Maharshi. For the morning and evening meditations certain sadhus, pupils of the Master, often came from the caves of Arunachala.

Every day the Vedas were recited and before the night meal holy hymns were chanted, often those composed by Maharshi himself in his younger days.

Every fortnight one of the permanent residents, a learned Brahmin, sang a most beautiful hymn; it was, as I learned, in praise of the ‘Lord of the Universe’. It was full of melodic implications and the endings of the words, which of course I did not understand, will forever remain in my memory, like so many other things in this abode of peace.

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 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, and that only thus could I find enlightenment.

Yet as days passed, the radiance emanating from the Sage was slowly doing its invisible work. At first I wanted to have a talk with him, but I was disheartened by the shallowness of what I tried to say. Then at last, intuition showed the proper way:

Silence is the most powerful form of teaching transmitted from Master to pupil. There is no word

by which one can convey the important things, the deepest truths.

— From Maharshi’s Sayings

to be continued