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TRANSCRIPT
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Stories of Ramana Maharsi
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ÍNDICE
From a Great Darkness .................................................................................................................. 2
An Astounding Astrologer ............................................................................................................. 6
Who Will Show Me The Way? – Shantammal ............................................................................... 8
How Sundarammal Came to the Ashram .................................................................................... 14
Sampurnamma's Story ................................................................................................................ 16
Bhagavan as cook, how he ate .................................................................................................... 17
Subbalakshmi Taken To Her Goal ................................................................................................ 19
Gods Visit In The Forms of Beggars ............................................................................................. 22
Of Animals ................................................................................................................................... 23
Magic of the Sun Mantra. Learning to Tolerate Great Heat ....................................................... 25
Meeting Devotees Needs ............................................................................................................ 27
Beauty of a devotee´s soul. ......................................................................................................... 28
Ramdas Sees All As God .............................................................................................................. 30
Is There Time or Space For Me? .................................................................................................. 31
From a Great Darkness
What does Sri Bhagavan mean to me? After many years of experiencing his grace I can
now reply, "He is everything to me. He is my Guru and my God." I can say this with
confidence because, had I not had the good fortune of seeing him and thereafter
getting into closer contact with him, I would have been still groping in the dark. I would
still have been a doubting Thomas.
How did it all begin? When I was eighteen I read a lot of books by Swami Vivekananda
and Swami Rama Tirtha. This reading generated a desire in me that I should also
become a sannyasin, like the authors of these books. Their writings also implanted in
me the ideal of plain living, high thinking, and a life dedicated to spiritual matters.
Somehow, my desire to become a sannyasin was never fulfilled, but the ideal of a
dedicated life made a deeper and deeper impression on my mind. At the age of twenty
I had the good fortune of contacting Mahatma Gandhi. His ideals won my heart and for
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several years I faithfully tried to put them into practice.
I was doing my duty to the best of my ability and leading, as best I could, a pure and
dedicated life until the age of thirty-eight. Around that time skepticism began to assail
me and my mind became a home for all kinds of doubts. I began to doubt the ideals of
Gandhiji; I began to doubt sadhus and sannyasins; I doubted religion, and I even began
to doubt the existence of God.
It was in this darkest period of my life that I first heard of Sri Ramana Maharshi. At that
time I seemed to be heading swiftly towards total skepticism. The world appeared to
me to be full of injustice, cruelty, greed, hate and other evils, the existence of which
logically led me to a strong disbelief in God. For, I argued, did He truly exist, could
anything dark or evil ever have flourished? Doubt upon doubt assailed me like dark
shadows which dogged my footsteps. I had, as a consequence, lost whatever little
reverence I might have had for sadhus and sannyasins. I found myself slowly but surely
losing my interest in religion. The very word itself eventually became a synonym in my
mind for a clever ruse to delude the credulity of the world. In short, I began to live a
life lacking optimism and faith. I was not happy in my disbelief, for my mind took on
the aspect of turbulent waters, and I felt that all around me there was raging a
scorching fire which seemed to burn up my very entrails.
It was about that time that Chhaganlal Yogi met an old friend on the train who
had recently visited Ramanashram. His friend described his visit with great
enthusiasm and tried his best to convince Chhaganlal that Ramana Maharshi was
an authentic sage. Then his friend gave him a pinch of vibhutti, holy ash from
Ramana Maharshi's ashram, but such was his skepticism and cynicism that he let
the precious ashes fall from his fingers onto the floor of the train. But in parting
his friend gave him a book about the Maharshi which Chhaganlal read and was
intrigued by, yet he still felt a great skepticism. Despite his cynicism, he could not
get the Maharshi out of his mind. Finally after reading other books and repeatedly
writing to the ashram, he decided to visit and find out for himself.
At first I was terribly disappointed because nothing seemed to strike me in the way I
had expected. I found Sri Bhagavan seated on a couch, as quiet and unmoving as a
statue. His presence did not seem to emanate anything unusual, and I was very
disappointed to discover that he displayed no interest in me at all. I had expected
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warmth and intimacy, but unfortunately I seemed to be in the presence of someone
who lacked both.
From morning till evening I sat waiting to catch a glimpse of his grace, of his interest in
me, a stranger who had come all the way from Bombay, but I evoked no response. Sri
Bhagavan merely seemed cold and unaffected. After pinning such hopes on him, his
apparent lack of interest nearly broke my heart. Eventually, I decided to leave the
ashram, knowing full well that if I did, I would be more skeptical and hard-headed that
before.
The Veda parayana was chanted every evening in Sri Bhagavan's presence. It was
considered to be one of the most attractive items in the daily program of the ashram,
but in my depressed state it fell flat on my ears. It was the evening of the day that I had
decided to leave. The sun was setting like a sad farewell, spreading a darkness over
both the hill and my heart. The gloom deepened until the neighborhood disappeared
into the blackness of the night. In my sensitive state the electric light which was
switched on in the hall seemed like a living wound on the body of the darkness. My
mind, which was deeply tormented, felt that the psychic atmosphere in the hall was
stuffy and choking. Unable to bear it any longer, I walked outside to get a breath of
fresh air. A young man called Gopalan came up to me and asked me where I had come
from.
"Bombay," I replied.
He asked me if I had been introduced to the Master, and when I replied that I had not,
he was most surprised. He immediately led me to the office, introduced me to the
Sarvadhikari and then proceeded with me to the hall where he introduced me to Sri
Bhagavan. When he heard my name Sri Bhagavan's eyes turned to me, looked straight
into mine and twinkled like stars. With a smile beaming with grace he asked me if I
were a Gujerati. I replied that I was. Immediately he sent for a copy of the Gujerati
translation by Sri Kishorelal Mashruwala of Upadesa Saram, a few copies of which had
only just arrived. He then asked me to chant the Gujerati verses from the book.
"But I am not a singer," I answered, hesitating to begin. But when it became clear that I
was expected to perform, I got over my initial hesitation and began to chant verses
from the book. I had sung about fifteen when the bell for the evening meal rang. All
the time I was chanting I could feel Sri Bhagavan keenly observing me. It seemed that
the light of his eyes was suffusing my consciousness, even without my being conscious
of it. His silent gaze brought about a subtle but definite transformation in me. The
darkness, which a few minutes before had seemed heavy and unbearable, gradually
lightened and melted into a glow of well-being. My erstwhile sadness completely
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disappeared, leaving in my heart an inexplicable emotion of joy. My limbs appeared to
have been washed in an ocean-tide of freedom.
That evening I sat close to Sri Bhagavan in the dining room. In my exalted state the
food I ate seemed to have an unusual and unearthly taste. I quite literally felt that I
was participating in some heavenly meal in the direct presence of God. After having
such an experience I, of course, abandoned all thought of leaving the ashram that
night. I stayed on for three days longer in order to widen the sacred and extraordinary
experience which had already begun, an experience of divine grace which I felt would
lead me in the direction of spiritual liberation.
During the three days of my stay in the proximity of the Divine Master, I found my
whole outlook entirely changed. After that short period I could find little evidence of
my old self, a self which had been tied down with all kinds of preconceptions and
prejudices. I felt that I had lost the chains which bind the eyes of true vision. I became
aware that the whole texture of my mind had undergone a change. The colors of the
world seemed different, and even the ordinary daylight took on an ethereal aspect. I
began to see the foolishness and the futility of turning my gaze only on the dark side of
life.
In those few days Sri Bhagavan, the divine magician, opened up for me a strange new
world of illumination, hope and joy. I felt that his presence on earth alone constituted
sufficient proof that humanity, suffering and wounded because of its obstinate
ignorance, could be uplifted and saved. For the first time I fully understood the
significance of 'darshan'.
While I lay in bed in the guest room of the ashram, the encounter which had taken
place on the train in Bombay replayed itself in my mind. I recalled the blind audacity
which had prompted me to drop the thrice-holy vibhuti in contempt onto the floor of
the railway carriage. Today, even one speck of such vibhuti is a treasure to me.
"O Master," I thought to myself, "what a miracle of transformation! Why did it take
half a lifetime before I could meet you? Half a lifetime of blundering, of failing and
falling. But I suppose, my Master, that you would say that time is a mental concept. For
I feel that in your sight your bhaktas have, throughout all time, always been with you
and near you.
As these thoughts were passing through my mind, I slowly fell into a deep sleep. The
next morning I arose in a rejuvenated state; there was a new vigor in my limbs and an
awareness that my heart was permeated with light. On the third day of my visit I sadly
took leave of Sri Bhagavan. I was still human enough, still caught in the sense of time
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and space, for the parting to leave me with a feeling of aching and emptiness in the
heart. But there was no despair. Something assured me that I would be returning to
the feet of the Master sooner than I could imagine.
Chhaganlal V. Yogi
An Astounding Astrologer
Sri Venkateswara Sarma (Sastrigal Mama) was an exceptional and astounding
astrologer. From childhood he exhibited a rare genius in this field. While still very
young, his extraordinary intelligence enabled him to master the most abstruse and
difficult branch of astrology. All, including his guru, declared him as the wisest student.
Prasna is an astrological science based on a perfect fruition between mathematics and
intuition. With just some meager information from the questioner, which includes only
the first word of the question, a Prasna astrologer can, within seconds, draw up
mentally a horoscope. This requires great mathematical precision and perfection.
Having drawn the horoscope within his mind, and in a flash also having studied it, the
astrologer will have to wait, prayerfully. Then, from the depths of his inner intuition
words gush forth, forming the astrological predictions for the questioner. As this
Prasna process is not merely based on mathematical horoscopes, it culminates in
intuitional revelation, and the predictions are said to be amazingly accurate and
correct to the minutest detail. Sri Sastrigal Mama was highly proficient in this system
of astrology.
He once described it to me by citing this example: One day a merchant came to his
house while he was engaged offering worship in his puja room. His wife informed him
that one Nagappa Chettiar was waiting on the verandah and that he seemed worried
about some urgent matter. Not willing to interrupt his worship, and by merely listening
to the name and the few details given by his wife, Sri Sastrigal Mama, within a minute,
began giving the following prediction:
"Tell Nagappa Chettiar that he has come to inquire about his lost, costly diamond ring.
He suspects his servant. Assure him that no one has stolen it. In his gard�n, near the
well, there are two rows of plantain trees. On one side there are only two trees; on the
other there is a cluster of trees. Let him search under the two trees and the diamond
ring will be found there. While he was cleaning his clothes on the washing stone the
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ring slipped off his finger and fell to the ground."
Nagappa Chettiar returned home and found the ring exactly where Sri Sastrigal Mama
had said, and because of this and similar astounding predictions Sri Sastrigal Mama
became quite famous. He also became convinced that the Prasna branch of astrology
was the most perfect science.
At the height of his career he heard about Sri Ramana Maharshi. When he first saw Sri
Bhagavan's picture he was immediately captivated and traveled to Arunachala to see
the Sage. He climbed up to Skandashram, where Bhagavan then resided. On the very
first look that the Maharshi gave him, Sri Sastrigal Mama became his slave. He had a
strong desire to stay with the Maharshi permanently, renouncing everything he held
dear. Yet, there was still his lifelong attraction to the science of astrology. He felt
distracted by it and did not know how to proceed.
One day, gathering courage, he approached Sri Maharshi in all humility and said,
"Bhagavan, is not astrology the best and most accurate of all sciences?"
In silence Bhagavan looked at him deeply for some time. Then, slowly but firmly, he
replied: "The science of the Self is superior to all other sciences."
It was the peak period in Sri Sastrigal Mama's life. For every prediction he was richly
rewarded and was consequently acquiring immense wealth. Nevertheless, the words
from the Master convinced him immediately to renounce his lucrative profession and
pursue the science of the Self. His wife too fully supported him in this decision. The
remainder of their life they lived in utter poverty at the holy feet of the Sat-Guru,
under the protective shade of the Sacred Mountain, Arunachala.
V. Ganesan
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Who Will Show Me The Way? – Shantammal
At the instance of Sri Muruganar, Shantammal came to the Ashram from Ramnad in
1927. She worked in the kitchen and her devotion to Sri Bhagavan was total. Since she
served all with love, everyone at the Ashram loved her, and wherever she stayed
people surrounded her to listen to her expositions describing her life with Sri
Bhagavan.
When my brother's brother-in-law was transferred from Ramnad to a
neighboring village, his wife could not go with him, so he sent for me to
cook for him. I was then a widow 40 years old. One morning I sat in front
of the fire and looked at the rice boiling and various thoughts came to my
mind: "Shantamma, what is the matter with you? Why are you doing all
this? You already lost your husband and your three sons. Your daughter
you loved dearly and served her, along with her husband. You spent all
your money on them. Then your daughter died and so did her child. Then
you gave your love to your brother's daughter and her husband and all
your money too, and now you are here cooking for your brother's wife's
brother. Is it for this that you were born? Must you always entangle
yourself with somebody or other? Who is this man to you? Why should
you cook for him? What is the meaning of all this endless cooking? If you
go on wasting your life like this, what will become of you in the end?"
It was as if a light had flooded my entire being. I went to my brother's son-
in-law, told him that I was leaving on pilgrimage for Rameshwaram and got
into the train.
During the journey in the train and at Rameshwaram one question was all
the time in my mind: "Where can I find the one who will lead me to
salvation, who will show me the way to God?"
At Rameshwaram I stayed with a lady who was reading scriptures to
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pilgrims in the temple and helped her in the household work. She advised
me to read the book Kaivalyam. That book was available with one
Nagaswami, whom I knew well. I found him and asked him to lend me the
book.
"Why do you need Kaivalyam?" he asked.
"To know the path to liberation."
"Will books lead you to salvation ?"
"What else can I do ?"
"Do you really want to know the way ?"
"Yes, I do."
"Have you no other desire than that ?"
"None."
"Is that the truth, the very truth ?" Thrice he asked.
"Yes, yes."
He carefully searched my face. "All right, come on the full-moon day."
On that day he taught me the Mahamantra and gave me instructions on
how to use it. For months on end I was engrossed in my spiritual practices
and forgot my very existence. When I became somewhat conscious of my
surroundings, I would serve Nagaswami. But he died within a year and I
returned to Ramnad. I was reading holy books, explaining them to other
ladies and practicing my mantra. Thus nine years passed and I was already
fifty years old.
Muruganar, a native of
Ramnad, gave up worldly
life at an early age and was
known to me to be a disciple
of Sri Ramana Maharshi.
Once I saw Bhagavan's
photo with him and felt a
very strong urge to go and
see him. I was very poor and
it took me a year to collect
the money needed.
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In 1927, three other ladies
and I went to
Tiruvannamalai. By that
time Bhagavan had come
down from the hill and was
living in a hut near his
mother's samadhi. We
rented a place in the town,
had a bath and went to see
him. He was seated on a cot
in a grass-thatched shed.
Muruganar was by his side.
As soon as I saw him I knew
he was God in human form.
I bowed to him and said, "The dream of my life has come true. Today I am
blessed. Grant that my mind does not trouble me anymore."
Bhagavan turned to Muruganar and said: "Ask her to find out whether
there is such a thing as mind. If there is, ask her to describe it."
I stood still, not knowing what to say. Muruganar explained to me, "Don't
you see? You have been initiated in the search for the Self."
Although I was all mixed up, I remembered to honor Bhagavan by singing a
poem from "Ramanastuthi Panchakam." It says: "Your spiritual splendor
fills the universe with its perfume. Attracted by it numberless beings turn
their face to you. I too grew restless and sought you eagerly. Where is He?
Where is He? I enquired, and now I have come to you." Bhagavan asked
me how I had come to know the song. Muruganar explained that he had
given me a copy of the book.
We stayed for forty days. We would cook some food, sharing the
expenses, and take it to the Ashram. Bhagavan would taste it and the rest
was given to the devotees. In those days, Bhagavan's brother,
Chinnaswami, was cooking for the Ashram. Some provisions were sent
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from the town by various devotees and the supply was very precarious.
Often there were no curries or sambar, only plain rice and a piece of
pickle. The Kartikai festival, for which Arunachala is famous, was going on.
From three in the morning until twelve at night there were people coming
and going. Bhagavan had to be protected by a bamboo fence.
I wanted to stay on until Bhagavan's birthday, but the other three ladies
had to return, so I went to Bhagavan to take his leave. He asked me to wait
a day longer, for the newly-printed Upadesa Saram was to be released. The
next day he gave me a copy with his own hands. The thought of leaving
him broke my heart and I wept bitterly. Very kindly he said, "No, don't cry.
You are going to Ramnad, but you are not leaving Arunachala. Go and
come soon."
I spent a year at Ramnad the way I did before. Bhagavan's birthday was
nearing and I felt eager to go back. I had not even the money to buy a
ticket, yet I resolved to start on Saturday, come what may. On Friday the
invitation arrived. Later I came to know that Bhagavan had mentioned my
name to the dispatchers. Bhagavan's picture was on the invitation and I
took it to the ladies in the Ramnad Palace. They gave me thirty rupees to
attend the Jayanti. It was the experience of every devotee that if they
were determined to visit him, all obstacles would somehow vanish.
This time Bhagavan was on a sofa in a newly- built hall. He was explaining
something from Ulladu Narpadu to Dandapani Swami. When he saw me
his first question was: "Have you a copy of this book? I asked them to post
one to you." How my Lord remembers me by name and how loving is his
personal attention to my needs! What have I, an ignorant woman, done to
deserve such kindness? How can I afford to keep away from him?
I stayed at the Ashram as if it were my own home. At night I would sleep in
some devotee's house, but from dawn to dusk I would help in the Ashram
chores. The birthday celebrations were over, the guests were leaving, and
naturally I felt that I too would have to go. But how could I leave
Bhagavan? One day I gathered courage and told Bhagavan about my deep
urge to stay on: "As long as I am with you, Bhagavan, my mind is at peace.
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Away from you I am restless. What am I to do?"
He said, "Stay here until your mind gets settled. After that you can go
anywhere and nothing will disturb you."
How could I remain? I was too poor to stay in the town. The Ashram was
poor too. Often there was not enough food for all. How could I ask them to
take me in? Why should they? Anyhow, I had decided not to return to
Ramnad. I would not leave the feet of my Guru. If only by some miracle I
could stay in the Ashram. And the miracle happened that very minute!
When I was going towards the dining hall, I overheard Chinnaswami and
Ramakrishnaswami talking to each other. Chinnaswami, then our cook,
was not well and had to leave for Madras for treatment. "Would
Shantamma kindly agree to stay and cook, if asked?" I heard him say.
Kindly agree when I was dreaming of it! How merciful was Bhagavan! I was
to stay for two months...and stayed forever.
I was put in charge of the cooking and Bhagavan would come often to
help. Could I dream of greater happiness? He would get everything ready
and tell me what to cook and how. With him near me I was tireless. No
amount of work was too much for me. I did not even feel I was working. I
worked with God! I was silently wondering at my great good fortune of
being allowed to live and work in such a Great Presence!
One day, when I was still new in the kitchen, I served Bhagavan with a few
more pieces of potato than the rest. Bhagavan noticed it and got very
angry with me. He turned his face away and would not look at those who
were serving food. I could not make out the cause of his anger and
wondered who it was who had offended him. The women who worked in
the kitchen would collect around him to take leave of him in the evening
after the work was over. Usually he would exchange a few words with us,
inquire who was accompanying us, whether we had a lantern, and so on.
That evening he gave me a sign to come near.
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"What did you do tonight ?"
"I don't know, Swami, have I done something wrong?
"You served me more curry than others."
"What does it matter? I did it with love and devotion."
"I felt ashamed to eat more than others. Have you come all this way to
stuff me with food? You should always serve me less than others."
"But, Bhagavan, how can I treat you worse than others?"
"Is this the way to please me? Do you hope to earn grace through a potato
curry?"
"Out of my love for you I committed a blunder.
Forgive me, Bhagavan, I shall respect your wishes."
"The more you love my people, the more you love me," said Bhagavan,
and the matter was closed. A good lesson was learned and never
forgotten.
Shantammal
At that period of the Ashram's life, Bhagavan used to be unusually active, working both
in the kitchen and outside. He would clean grain, shell nuts, grind seeds, stick together
the leaf plates we ate from, and so on. We would join him in every task and listen to
his stories, jokes, reminiscences and spiritual teachings. Occasionally he would scold us
lovingly like a mother. All Vedanta I learned from him in easy and happy lessons. At
every hour and place, at each task, the work was from him or for him and thus
between us an unending link was forged. He was always in the center. It was easy for
us to keep our minds on him. It was impossible to do anything else, for we had to refer
to him all the time. All initiative and responsibility were his. He would attend to
everything. Whatever trouble cropped up during cooking or in daily life, we had only to
mention it to him and he would set it right. Everything we did, every problem we
faced, was made use of in teaching the art of total reliance on him.
As soon as Chinnaswami became the Sarvadhikari (general manager) of the Ashram, he
was full of zest and declared that henceforth adequate meals were to be served in the
Ashram, even if it meant buying and storing foodstuffs. Bhagavan used to make fun of
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him: "Well, store up, go on storing. Have rice from Nellore, dhal from Virudupatti, all
the best and the costliest." The Ashram was growing, the number of visitors increasing,
and prepared food was needed at all hours, so the Sarvadhikari was allowed to have
his way.
Shantammal, Ramana Smrti Souvenir
How Sundarammal Came to the Ashram
During April, 1953, Sundarammal arrived [at Arunachala] to spend forty-eight days in
retreat in a hut close to that of Lakshmi Devi, for whom she had a great admiration.
We were thus living very close to each other, but apart from the customary greetings,
neither she nor I made any attempt to get into conversation.
One day, towards the end of her retreat, she invited me and some other sadhus to
share a meal at her cell. It was the Telugu New Year's Day. It was then, before the meal
began, that she told me her story.
She belonged to a wealthy Telugu family of Madras. She married young but very soon
lost her husband. As a widow, she continued to live at home, surrounded by the love
of her parents and brothers. She rarely went out, and when she did, it was always with
her father. One day he took her to the neighboring temple to hear a talk given by a
sadhu. This sadhu was a devotee of the Maharshi. He told his audience about the
sage's 'conversion', his disappearance from the world [leaving Madurai], his resort to
the mountain of Arunachala, and the rest. Sundarammal was deeply moved. She
begged her father to allow her to accompany some pilgrims to Arunachala. He refused,
but promised that he would soon take her there himself.
But the promise was not fulfilled. Sundarammal passed the time thinking of Ramana
and praying to him. She soon lost her appetite and was unable to sleep. But her father
always had some especially urgent work which prevented him from taking her to
Tiruvannamalai.
One afternoon, about four o'clock, she seemed to see Ramana coming down the
mountain and approaching her. "Sundarammal, have no fear!" he said to her. "It is I.
Enough of this weeping and not eating or sleeping. Come, I am expecting you." Her
heart was filled with joy. Once more she appealed to her father, and once more he put
off the pilgrimage to another day.
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Some weeks later, she was alone one night in her room, weeping and calling on the
Maharshi. Then, quite worn out, she fell asleep. Suddenly she felt a blow on her side
and awoke with a start. It was about three o' clock in the morning. There was the
Maharshi standing by the head of her cot. "Come," was all he said.
She followed him downstairs, crossed the hall and came out on the verandah. Hardly
had she reached it when to her alarm she found herself alone. The Maharshi had
disappeared. She sat down uneasily.
Soon a rickshaw appeared and the rickshaw puller said: "Is this Number 12, and are
you Sundarammal? An old sadhu told me to come here and take you to the bus. Get
in." Sundarammal thought quite simply, "It is Bhagavan, the Maharshi," and got into
the rickshaw.
At the bus stand she and the rickshaw puller were both surprised not to find the old
sadhu. However, she asked for the Tiruvannamalai bus and got in.
Somewhere on the way her bus passed another one from which someone alighted and
then entered the Tiruvannamalai bus. "Are you Sundarammal?" he asked. "Yes, I am,"
she replied. "Good. Bhagavan has sent me to look for you."
In the evening she reached Tiruvannamalai and retired for the night in one of the large
halls kept for pilgrims. She prepared a cake to offer to Bhagavan and fell asleep full of
joy.
The next morning she went to the Ashram and fell at the feet of Bhagavan. "Here you
are at last," he said to her.
Some days later her brothers arrived, unable to understand how this child, who by
herself had never set foot outside her home, could have managed to reach
Tiruvannamalai. But Sundarammal was so deeply absorbed that she never even saw
her brothers, either in the hall or at midday in the dining hall. Only in the evening were
they able to approach her. They told her how upset everyone was at home and begged
her to return. If she wanted, they would build her a hermitage in the garden. But
nothing moved her and the brothers even spoke of taking her home by force. "If you
do, I will throw myself into a well," she said. Her brothers had to yield, but they soon
returned with their father. They found her in a cottage near the Ashram and arranged
for her continued stay there as well as they could.
During the fifteen years that remained of the Maharshi's life, she never left
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Tiruvannamalai even for a day.
This was the story that Sundarammal told me that morning—Sundarammal who could
never speak of God without her voice breaking with emotion and her eyes filling with
tears.
Swami Abhishiktananda
Sampurnamma's Story
To the poet the Maharshi was an inspired poet; to the scholar, an endless ocean
of knowledge; to the Yogi, a supreme adept established in Divine Union. Everyone
who approached him with humility and faith, saw something of themselves
reflected back, with greater insight and clarity. It is no wonder that those
uneducated but spiritually mature women who served him by cooking in the
kitchen saw him as a flawless cook who taught the highest wisdom in simple
kitchen chores. Sampurnamma diligently served Bhagavan in the kitchen for many
years and still lives in Sri Ramanasramam today. She can be seen in the Ashrama
with cane in hand, walking slowly with short steps, bent, and wearing a well-used
white sari which is draped over the top of her head. When you speak to her, a
beautiful smile lights up her face. In reminiscences from an interview,
Sampurnamma tells us her story.
Bhagavan was born in the village next to ours and my people knew him from his
earliest childhood. When he became a great saint with an Ashrama at Tiruvannamalai,
my relatives used to go there often, for they were quite devoted to him. I was busy
with my household and was not interested in going with them. When my husband
died, I was in despair and thought life not worth living. My people were urging me to
go to Ramanasramam to get some spiritual guidance from Bhagavan, but I was not in
the mood to go anywhere.
In 1932 my sister and her husband, Narayanan, were going to see Bhagavan and I
agreed to go with them. We found Bhagavan in a palm leaf hut built over his mother's
samadhi (place of burial). Some devotees and visitors were with him and all were
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17
having their morning coffee. Dandapani Swami introduced me to Bhagavan, saying:
"This is Dr. Narayanan's wife's sister." As soon as I was introduced, Bhagavan gave a
happy smile and said, "Varatoom, varatoom. (She is welcome, she is welcome.)" When
I was able to sit for long hours in Bhagavan's presence my mind would just stop
thinking and I would not notice the time passing. I was not taught to meditate and
surely did not know how to stop the mind from thinking. It would happen quite by
itself, by his grace. I would sit, immersed in a strange state in which the mind would
not have a single thought and yet which would be completely clear. Those were days
of deep and calm happiness. My devotion to Bhagavan took firm roots and never left
me.
I stayed for twenty days. When I was leaving, Bhagavan got a copy of Who am I? and
gave it to me with his own hands. When I returned to my village I was restless. I had all
kinds of dreams. I would dream that a pious lady would come to take me to the
Ashrama, or that Bhagavan was enquiring after me and calling me. I longed to go again
to Ramanasramam. My uncle was leaving for Arunachala and I eagerly accepted his
offer to take me with him. On my arrival I was asked to help in the kitchen because the
lady in charge of cooking had to leave for her home. I gladly agreed, for it gave me a
chance to stay at the Ashrama and to be near Bhagavan.
Bhagavan as cook, how he ate
In the beginning I was not good at cooking. The way they cooked in the Ashrama was
different from ours. But Bhagavan was always by my side and gave me detailed
instructions. His firm principle was that health depended on food and could be set
right and kept well by a proper diet. He also believed that fine grinding and careful
cooking would make any food easily digestible. So we used to spend hours on grinding
and stewing. He would sit in the middle of the kitchen, watching and offering
suggestions. He paid very close attention to proper cooking. I would give him food to
taste while it was cooking, to be sure that the seasoning was just right. He was always
willing to leave the Old Hall to give advice in the kitchen. Amidst pots and pans he was
relaxed and free. He would teach us numberless ways of cooking grains, pulses and
vegetables, the staples of our South Indian diet. He would tell us stories from his
childhood, or about his mother, her ways and how she cooked. He would tell me:
"Your cooking reminds me of Mother's cooking. No wonder, our villages were so near."
I think Bhagavan must have learned cooking from his mother, for if I made some dish
very well, while testing it he would exclaim, "Ha, you have made this dish just like
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18
Mother used to make it." And whenever my going home was mentioned he would say:
"Oh, our best lady cook wants to go away."
In the kitchen he was the Master Cook, aiming at perfection in taste and appearance.
One would think that he liked good food and enjoyed a hearty meal. Not at all. At
dinner time he would mix up the little food he would allow to be put on his leaf - the
sweet, the sour and the savory, everything together- and gulp it down carelessly as if
he had no taste in his mouth. When we would tell him that it was not right to mix such
nicely made up dishes, he would say: "Enough of multiplicity. Let us have some unity."
When I think of it now, I can see clearly that he used the work in the kitchen as a
background for spiritual training. He taught us to listen to every word of his and to
carry it out faithfully. He taught us that work is love for others, that we never can work
for ourselves. By his very presence he taught us that we are always in the presence of
God and that all work is His. He used cooking to teach us religion and philosophy.
He would allow nothing to go to waste. Even a grain of rice or a mustard seed lying on
the ground would be picked up, dusted carefully, taken to the kitchen and put in its
proper tin. I asked him why he gave himself so much trouble for a grain of rice. He said:
"Yes, this is my way. Everything is in my care and I let nothing go to waste. In these
matters I am quite strict. Were I married, no woman could get on with me. She would
run away." On some other day he said: "This is the property of my Father Arunachala. I
have to preserve it and pass it on to His children." He would use for food things we
would not even dream of as edible; wild plants, bitter roots and pungent leaves were
turned under his guidance into delicious dishes.
Once a feast was being prepared for his birthday. Devotees sent food in large
quantities: some sent rice, some sugar, some fruits. Someone sent a huge load of
brinjals and we ate brinjals day after day. The stalks alone made a big heap which was
lying in a corner. Bhagavan asked us to cook them as a curry! I was stunned, for even
cattle would refuse to eat such useless stalks. Bhagavan insisted that the stalks were
edible, and we put them in a pot to boil along with dry peas. After six hours of boiling
they were as hard as ever. We were at a loss what to do, yet we did not dare to disturb
Bhagavan. But he always knew when he was needed in the kitchen and he would leave
the Hall even in the middle of a discussion. A casual visitor would think that his mind
was all on cooking. In reality his grace was on the cooks. As usual he did not fail us, but
appeared in the kitchen. "How is the curry getting on?" he asked.
"Is it a curry we are cooking? We are boiling steel nails!" I exclaimed, laughing.
He stirred the stalks with the ladle and went away without saying anything. Soon after,
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we found them quite tender. The dish was simply delicious and everybody was asking
for a second helping. Bhagavan challenged the diners to guess what vegetable they
were eating. Everybody praised the curry and the cook, except Bhagavan. He
swallowed the little he was served in one mouthful like a medicine and refused a
second helping. I was very disappointed, for I had taken so much trouble to cook his
stalks and he would not even taste them properly. The next day he was telling
somebody: "Sampurnamma was distressed that I did not eat her wonderful curry. Can
she not see that everyone who eats is myself? And what does it matter who eats the
food? It is the cooking that matters, not the cook or the eater. A thing done well, with
love and devotion, is its own reward. What happens to it later matters little, for it is
out of our hands."
It was clear that Bhagavan did not want me to treat him differently from others and
would set me right by refusing to touch the very thing I was so proud of and eager to
serve.
Sampurnamma
Subbalakshmi Taken To Her Goal
The next day at noon I was again at
Ramanasramam. His midday meal over, Bhagavan
was reclining on the sofa and explaining a verse
from the Bhagavad Gita to Sri Ramiah Yogi. As no
one else was in the hall, I gathered courage and
asked: "What is Atma? Is it the limitless ether of
space or the awareness that cognizes
everything?" Bhagavan replied: "To remain
without thinking 'this is Atma' and 'that is Atma',
is itself Atma." He looked at me and I felt my mind
melt away into nothing. No thought would come,
only the feeling of immense, unutterable peace.
My doubts were cleared.
Every day I would visit Bhagavan and listen to his talks with the devotees. Deep in my
mind there was the same rock-like stillness, immensely solid and yet strangely vibrant.
Several times I was invited to work in the Ashrama, but the Ashrama ways were not
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20
orthodox enough for me. One day Bhagavan's own sister asked me to take her place in
the Ashrama, for she had to leave for some time. I could not refuse. At that time
Shantammal was the chief cook and my duty was to help her. To my great joy
Bhagavan was in the kitchen with us most of the time. He taught me to cook tastily and
neatly. I would spend all day in the Ashrama and in the evening I would go to the town
to sleep, for there was no sleeping accommodation for women in the Ashrama.
Once Bhagavan said: "You widows do not eat vegetables like drumsticks and radish.
Diet restrictions are good to strengthen the will. Besides, the quality of food and the
manner of eating have an influence on the mind." I was very happy to work in the
kitchen directly under Bhagavan's supervision; yet I wanted to go home. The Ashrama
ways were too unorthodox for me. And there was too much work. I did not want to
work all day long. I wanted to sit quietly and meditate in solitude.
So I left again for my village and I went away for about a year. I divided my time
between idleness and meditation. Yet my heart was at the Ashrama. I would tell
myself: "Where is the need of running about. Is not Bhagavan here and everywhere?"
But my heart was calling me to Bhagavan. Even when I was pleading with myself, that
in the Ashrama there would be no time for meditation, my heart would say: "Working
in the kitchen by his side is far better than meditation." At home I had all the leisure I
wanted, but it seemed to me that I was wasting my time.
Later I learned that that was the time Bhagavan used to remember me very often.
Once they were preparing pongal (pulse with rice and black pepper) to celebrate
Bhagavan's monthly birth-star (Punarvasu) and Bhagavan told Shantammal:
"Subbalakshmi is far away yet she worries whether pongal is cooked here today or
not." On some other festival day Bhagavan announced: "Subbalakshmi will turn up;
keep some pongal for her." That very day I arrived at the Ashrama.
He was the very embodiment of wisdom and kindness, though he did not mind our
faults and mistakes; he made us follow his instructions to the letter. We had to do the
same task again and again until it was done to his complete satisfaction. Did he do it
for himself? Of what use was it to him? He wanted to prove to us that we could do
things right, that only lack of patience and attention causes all the mess. He sometimes
seemed too severe, even harsh, to make us do something correctly, for he knew what
we did not know - that we can act correctly if we only try. With experience came
confidence, and with confidence the great peace of righteousness.
In daily life he avoided all distinction. At work and at food he was one of us. But in the
hall, seated on the sofa, he was the great Lord of Kailas, the Holy Mountain. Whenever
Bhagavan would enter or leave the hall, we would all get up respectfully. One could
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see that he did not like so many people being disturbed because of him.
He wanted us to learn well the lesson that God is present in every being in all his glory
and fullness and must be given equal reverence. He was tireless in hammering this
lesson into our minds and hearts, and he would ruthlessly sacrifice the little comforts
we so loved to provide for him, as soon as he noticed a trace of preference. The law
that what cannot be shared must not be touched was supreme in his way of dealing
with us. Separative and exclusive feelings are the cause of the "I" and therefore the
greatest obstacles in the realization of the One. No wonder he was exterminating them
so relentlessly.
One had to live and work with him to know what a great teacher he was. Through the
trifles of daily life he taught us Vedanta in theory and practice. He led us with absolute
wisdom and infinite kindness and we were changed to the very root of our being, not
even knowing the depth and scope of his influence. It is only now, after so many years,
that we can see the meaning of the orders, prohibitions, scoldings and storms that we
had to endure. At that time we understood so little and just obeyed, because we felt
that he was God. Even that feeling we owed to his grace, for from time to time he
would let us see him as he really was, the Lord Almighty, and not the human frame to
which we were accustomed.
We were women, simple and uneducated. It was our love for him, a reflection of his
love, that chained us to his feet and made us stay. For him we gave up hearth and
home and all our earthly ties. We only knew that we were safe with him, that in some
miraculous way he would take us to our goal. He himself was our goal, our real home.
More than that we did not know or care. We were even slow to learn the lesson of
equality to man and beast which he was so anxious to teach us first. To us he alone
existed. The radiant form of Ramana was enough for us. We did not know that it was
not enough, that a human soul must learn to embrace the universe and realize its own
presence in every living being. We would concentrate too much on him and resent his
compelling us to enlarge our little circle. His sometimes harsh treatment would
bewilder us and make us cry. Now we see that it was love that suffered as it laboured.
Yogis control themselves severely for long to reach the state to which Bhagavan would
take us by making us work near him in the kitchen. The small tasks of daily life he
would make into avenues to light and bliss. Whoever has not experienced the ecstasy
of grinding, the rapture of cooking, the joy of serving iddlies to devotees, his devotees,
the state when the mind is in the heart and the heart is in him and he is in the work,
does not know how much bliss a human heart contains.
Although physically he is no more with us, he still directs us, as in the past. He will not
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let go his hold on us until we reach the Other Shore. This is our unshaken faith. We
may not always be conscious of his guidance, but we are safe in his hands.
Sri Krishna, in His mercy became a cowherd to teach simple milkmaids the way to
salvation. Similarly Bhagavan, the same Supreme Being in another form, took to
cooking in order to save a few ignorant women. With his eyes he served his devotees
the food of the spirit, with his hands - the bread of life.
Subbalakshmi
Gods Visit In The Forms of Beggars
During the Kartikai Festival beggars from all over South India would collect
at Tiruvannamalai in vast crowds and they would flock to the Ashram for an
assured meal. Once they became so unruly that the attendants refused to
serve them. The matter was discussed among the workers and it was
decided to abandon the distribution of food to beggars.
That night I had the following dream: Bhagavan's Hall was full of devotees.
On the sofa appeared a small creature which gradually grew until it became
a huge, bright-red horse. The horse went round the Hall, sniffing at each
devotee in turn. I was afraid he would come near me, but the horse went to
Bhagavan, licked him all over the body and disappeared. Bhagavan called
me near and asked me not to be afraid. A divine perfume emanated from
him. He said: "Don't think it is an ordinary horse. As soon as the flags are
hoisted at Arunachaleshwara Temple for the Kartikai festival, gods come
down to partake in the celebrations. They join the crowd and some mix with
the beggars at the Ashram gate. So never stop feeding sadhus and beggars
at festivals." I told the dream to Chinnaswami Swami, and that day he
ordered seven measures of rice to be cooked for the beggars.
Shantammal
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Of Animals
Once a little deer found her way to Bhagavan and would not leave him. She would go
with him up the hill and gambol around him and he would play with her for hours.
About a year later she ran away into the jungle and some people must have pelted her
with stones, for she was found severely wounded with her legs broken. She was
brought to the Ashrama. Bhagavan kept her near him, dressed her wounds and a
doctor set her broken bones. One midnight the deer crept onto Bhagavan's lap,
snuggled up to him and died. The next day Bhagavan told me that the deer had died. I
said: "Some great soul came to you as a deer to gain liberation from your hands."
Bhagavan said: "Yes, it must be so. When I was on the hill, a crow used to keep me
company. He was a rishi in a crow's body. He would not eat from anybody's hand but
mine. He also died."
Once a garuda, a white-breasted eagle, which is considered holy in India, flew into the
Hall and sat on the top of a cupboard near Bhagavan. After awhile it flew around him
and disappeared. "He is a siddha (a saint endowed with supernatural powers) who
came to pay me a visit," said Bhagavan most seriously.
Sampurnamma
At about 4 p.m. Sri Bhagavan, who was writing something intently, turned his eyes
slowly towards the window to the north; he closed the fountain pen with the cap and
put it in its case; he closed the notebook and put it aside; he removed his spectacles,
folded them in the case and left them aside. He leaned back a little, looked up
overhead, turned his face this way and that and looked here and there. He passed his
hand over his face and looked contemplative. Then he turned to someone in the hall
and said softly: "The pair of sparrows just came here and complained to me that their
nest had been removed. I looked up and found their nest missing." Then he called for
the attendant, Madhava Swami, and asked: "Madhava, did anyone remove the
sparrows' nest?"
The attendant, who walked in leisurely, answered with an air of unconcern: "I removed
the nests as often as they were built. I removed the last one this very afternoon."
M: That's it. That is why the sparrows complained. The poor little ones! How they take
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the pieces of straw and shreds in their tiny beaks and struggle to build their nests!
Attendant: But why should they build here, over our heads?
M: Well-well. Let us see who succeeds in the end. (After a short time Sri Bhagavan
went out.)
At food time Bhagavan would ask to be served very little and he would carefully clear
the plate of the last grain of food before getting up. Although he never asked us to do
the same, I asked him: "If we clear our dining leaves so scrupulously, the dogs, cats,
monkeys, rats and the ants will starve." Bhagavan answered: "Well, if you are so
compassionate, why not feed the animals before taking food yourselves? Do you think
they relish your scrapings?
Krishna Bhikshu, Sri Ramana Leela
A dog used to sleep next to Bhagavan, and there were two sparrows living at his side in
the Hall. Even when people tried to drive them away they would come back. Once he
noticed that the dog had been chased away. He remarked: "Just because you are in the
body of a human you think you are a human being, and because he is in the body of a
dog you think him a dog. Why don't you think of him as a Mahatma, and treat him as a
great person. Why do you treat him like a dog?" The respect he showed to animals and
birds was most striking. He really treated them as equals. They were served food first
like some respected visitors, and if they happened to die in the Ashrama, they would
be given a decent burial and a memorial stone. The tombs of the deer, the crow and
the cow Lakshmi can still be seen in the Ashrama near the back gate.
Who knows in how many different forms - animal, human, and divine beings visited
this embodiment of the Almighty! We, common and ignorant women knew only the
bliss of his presence and could not tear ourselves away from the Beloved of all, so
glorious he was. It has been sixty years, I think, since I came. The days I spent with
Bhagavan are memorable days indeed. Somehow, in my old age, I am pulling on with
Bhagavan in my heart and his name on my tongue.
Sampurnamma
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Magic of the Sun Mantra. Learning to Tolerate
Great Heat
Many years later, when Jagadisha Sastri and I were walking down a street together in
Bombay, it occurred to me that I had never seen him wear any kind of footwear. The
black tar roads of the city got very hot in the summer and I found it hard to believe
that anyone could walk comfortably without wearing sandals or shoes. I turned to him
and asked, "Sastriji, your feet must have got burned a lot walking on these roads, isn't
that so?" "No, no," he answered, "I have already got ravi raksha (protection from the
sun) from Bhagavan. I may walk in any amount of heat but nothing ever happens to
me."
I naturally asked, "How did you get this ravi raksha?"
By way of an answer, Sastriji told me a long story. "One day, right in the middle of the
afternoon, Bhagavan took his kamandalu, got up and told me, 'Jagadisha, come with
me to walk about on the mountain.'
"'But it's so hot,' I protested. 'How can we move about in such weather?' I argued like
this because I wanted to escape from the trip. "Bhagavan found my excuse
unsatisfactory. 'You can move about in just the same way that I move about,' he said.
"'But my feet will burn!' I exclaimed. I didn't have any footwear with me and I didn't
relish the idea of walking about over the burning rocks. "'Will my feet not burn as
well?' replied Bhagavan, obviously feeling that this was not a serious obstacle.
Bhagavan never wore any kind of footwear. He could walk on the toughest terrain in
any weather without feeling the least discomfort. "'But yours is a different case,' I
answered, alluding to the fact that Bhagavan never needed footwear.
"'Why? Am I not a man with two feet, just like you?' asked Bhagavan. 'Why are you
unnecessarily scared? Come on! Get up!'
"Having realized that it was useless to argue any more, I got up and started walking
with Bhagavan. The exposed stones had become so hot because of the severe heat of
the sun that walking on them made my feet burn. For some time I bore the suffering,
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but when it became unbearable I cried out, 'Bhagavan, my feet are burning so much! I
cannot walk one more step. Even standing here is difficult. On all sides it is raining fire!'
"Bhagavan was not impressed. 'Why are you so scared?' he asked. "'If I remain in this
terrible heat for any more time,' I replied, 'my head will crack open because of the
heat and I will definitely die!' I was not joking. I really was afraid of dying.
"Bhagavan smiled and said in a very quiet and deep voice, 'Jagadisha, give up your fear
and listen. You must have the bhavana (mental conviction and attitude) that you are
the sun. Start doing japa (internal repetition) of the mantra Suryosmi (I am the sun)
with the conviction that it is really true. You will soon see the effect of it. You yourself
will become Surya Swarupa, that is, you will have the characteristics of the sun. Can
the sun feel the heat of the sun?'
"I followed this instruction of Bhagavan and started doing japa of this sun mantra
because there was no other way to be saved from the burning heat. In a short time I
began to feel the effect of the japa. The severity of the heat lessened and eventually I
began to experience, instead of the severe heat, a pleasing coolness. As the burning
sensation diminished I found that I was able to walk quickly alongside Bhagavan. By
the time we had both reached Skandashram I found that my feet were not at all burnt
as I had continued the mantra japa right up till the end of the walk. "Later, I was
astonished to discover that the effect of chanting this mantra was permanent. Though
I no longer chant it, I have never again suffered from the heat of the sun. I can now
walk in the summer on the tar roads of a city like Bombay with bare feet."
Chhaganlal V. Yogi
When I cooked, Bhagavan would come to the kitchen to taste the food
and see whether the seasoning was just right. Once he said: "The
Maharajas employ special taste experts and pay them huge salaries. I
wonder what will be my pay.
"I am a beggar, Bhagavan, and all a beggar can offer is her life," I said,
and Bhagavan nodded lovingly.
Shantammal
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Meeting Devotees Needs
Another time, I came to Bhagavan on my way to Madras where I wanted to try for a
job. When I got up after prostrating, Bhagavan asked me, "Males can go anywhere and
eke out a livelihood, but what arrangements have you made for your wife and
children?" I replied, "I have provided for them." I stayed for a few days with Bhagavan
and then went away to Madras. A few days later my elder brother visited Bhagavan
and Bhagavan made kind enquiries of him whether my wife and children were getting
on well, without any hardship. My brother told him, "He left some money when he
started for Madras. All that has been exhausted now and they are suffering great
hardship," and went away to Madurai.
When, after making some efforts for a job at Madras, I returned to Bhagavan he said,
"You told me you had provided for your wife and children. Your elder brother told me
they are undergoing hardship." I did not reply, for Bhagavan knows all and is also all
powerful. I again went to Madras, and finding my efforts for a job there were in vain,
returned to Bhagavan and stayed with him for some time.
During that time, one night, when I was sleeping outside on a double cot that was lying
there, Bhagavan suddenly came and sat near my feet. Seeing this I got up. Bhagavan
asked me, "What is the matter with you? Are you restless and not getting sleep
because of your family troubles? Would it be enough for you if you get rupees
10,000?" I kept silent.
Once when Bhagavan and I were going round the hill he said, "There are herbs on this
hill which could transmute base metals into gold." Then also I kept silent.
Bhagavan used often to joke with me and laugh asking "Oh! Are you suffering very
much?" He then told me, "When a man sleeps he dreams he is being beaten and that
he is suffering terribly. All that would be quite real at that time. But when he wakes up
he knows it was only a dream. Similarly when Jnana dawns, all the miseries of this
world would appear to be merely a dream."
In a few days, I returned to Madurai and through a friend got a manager's job in a
motor company. Later, I was also appointed as an agent for the sale of buses in
Ramnad and Madurai by another company, with a commission of 5 percent on all sales
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effected by me. From this and in other ways I got rupees 10,000; and I spent them on
the marriages of two of my daughters and for clearing off debts. I never used to
mention my family troubles to Bhagavan, nor ask Him for anything. He was himself
looking after me and my family, so why should I make any requests for this or that in
particular? I left everything to him. I used to tell Bhagavan frequently, "I have
entrusted my body, possessions, soul, all to Bhagavan. The entire burden of my family
is hereafter yours. I am hereafter only your servant, doing only your behests. I am a
puppet moved by your strings." Bhagavan used to laugh and say "Oh, Oh." It never
occurred to me to ask him for any wealth.
Yogi Ranganathan
When I first came to Bhagavan, I saw a bright light, like the sun, and
Bhagavan was in the midst of it. Later on I used to see a light between my
eyebrows. Once I saw a big light come out from Bhagavan's head and fill the
hall. In that light everything disappeared, including Bhagavan. Only the
feeling of 'I' was floating in the luminous void.
Shantammal
Beauty of a devotee´s soul.
January 8, 1983 - Our trip to Madras
The pleasant taxi ride which Paul, Ganesan and I were enjoying on the way to Madras
became a nightmare when at Chingleput our driver took a drink of some narcotic.
However, good fortune was the final result of our misfortune for we were forced by
circumstance to spend the night in the home of the President's [Sri T. N.
Venkataraman's] daughter, Lakshmi.
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Lakshmi's sublime devotion to Sri Bhagavan made a sweet and very deep impression
on me. She was elated and enraptured to be visited by Bhagavan's devotees. The
devotion with which she one-pointedly served all and the way she later kept me up
during the night to talk of Bhagavan deeply inspired me. Her dedicated and devoted
presence uplifted us all immensely.
I entered Lakshmi's kitchen and saw on her shrine the two cutting knives I had brought
to India. "I brought these for you," I said.
Looking at me with her deep, dark eyes she replied, "Your presence is the greatest gift
for us." Extremely fatigued, I looked away and she caught my eyes again, "Do you
understand?" she said most tenderly, pressing my arm with her hand.
Lakshmi served dinner in the traditional manner: she remained standing and waited on
all, refusing to eat herself. She seemed to know the want of each. Her food was
delicious and mild. It had the mark of being prepared by a devotee, for it was so light
and pleasing.
At night Lakshmi and I stayed up to share some of our experiences before falling
asleep. She seemed never to tire of offering little services! She placed water by my side
just in case I became thirsty in the middle of the night; she offered to rub my temples
with oil, thinking I must have had a headache after our going about Madras during the
day in the heat. In fact, while I thought I was drifting off to sleep I heard her voice: "Oh,
how I feel like staying up with you to talk! Please, tell me something about yourself,
your Ashrama and Bhagavan!" I opened my eyes and found her leaning close to me in
the dark!
Lakshmi was nine years old when Bhagavan left the body and is the eldest sister of the
family. "Bhagavan must have been like a father for you," I said.
"Bhagavan was everything to us," she exclaimed, her eyes shining in the dark, "even
though we were playful children, he was our mother, father, brother, sister,
grandfather - everything!"
"I must have been an Indian in my former birth," I mused, "because when I am here
with devotees like you I feel so happy and light."
"Where is India and where is America?" she cried out, putting her face nearer to mine,
"We are all only with Bhagavan, wherever we may be!"
That night Lakshmi confided openly about the hardship she and all her sisters
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experienced on leaving Sri Ramanasramam after their marriages. Maybe in the end
they will all return there, I thought.
The next morning she insisted that I sit with her again in the kitchen as she prepared
dosais for us. Though her cooking was so light and delightful she apologized for it and
said, "I am not at all talented."
She served us with so much kindness and love that upon our leaving I saw her eyes
rimmed in tears. In her life I could see and feel a cool, gentle breeze of devotion issuing
out from a heart filled with the holy presence of Bhagavan. Only by Bhagavan's grace
can we meet such pure and humble souls.
Evelyn Kaselow Saphier
Ramdas Sees All As God
In the course of one of these stories Ramdas told me how he came to Arunachala and
saw Bhagavan. When he was a mendicant and was traveling to all the holy places, he
heard of Arunachala. He had also heard of Ramana Maharshi, but to see him was not
the main purpose of his visit to Tiruvannamalai. Soon after reaching there he came to
Ramanasramam and stood before the Maharshi, who was then sitting on a raised
platform. Ramdas said that he felt Bhagavan's grace pouring out through his eyes and
filling him. After having Bhagavan's darshan he went up on the hill and resided in a
cave and performed continuous round-the-clock japa. He said that by doing this
constant japa he lost his mind and after two weeks the universal vision of God
appeared to him. In other words, he saw everything as God. Since that day, he said, he
has been living in Ram.
Ramdas had received the Ram Mantra from his father and he was one of those few
great souls who could execute his sadhana to completion without the help of a
physical guru.
Recollections of N. Balaram Reddy
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31
Is There Time or Space For Me?
After the breakfast was finished, I purchased a photo of Sri Ramana from the book stall
of the ashram. I desired to get it from the hands of the sage himself. Carrying it in my
hands I went into the hall and prostrated to Sri Ramana, who was seated in jagrat
state. There was no one else in the hall on that occasion. That was a surprise to me. I
told him that I had purchased his photo and that I desired to receive it from his hands.
Having said so, I gave the photo to him. He graciously stretched his hands and took it
from me and looked at it for half a minute without saying any word by word of mouth.
He was pleased to give it back to me. I received it with great satisfaction.
Then, I wanted to obtain his blessings before I left the ashram. So, I went near him
once again and stood for a minute looking at him. I addressed him and said in English,
"Bhagavan, I have enjoyed great peace in your presence. Permit me to return to
Bangalore. May I know if I can receive your help when I reach Bangalore? I pray for
your benediction." The benevolent sage was till then reclining on the sofa. He
dramatized the parting scene. He sat up vertically on the sofa and with a kind but loud
tone he said in English as follows: "What? Is there time, place or distance for me?"
After putting this question to me, he reclined on the pillows of the sofa and closed his
eyes. His words and gestures were charming, instructive and benevolent. They
indicated perpetual compassion and love of all who pray for his aid. His gracious words
are ringing in my ears, even after thirty-four years.
T. S. Anantha Murthy, The Life and Teachings of Sree Ramana Maharshi
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